McCafe

and drank a coffee and smoked 6 cigarettes

and i wrote

to you

on a serviette

while i was surrounded by

families

and people from school

and pregnant teenage girls

-

you dialled my number the other night

and sat there listening to my phone ring

(i wonder if you were relieved when no one picked up)

-

you

showed yourself

for a brief moment

and now you have retreated once again

i was pissed off

and sent you an email telling you so

in words like this, unformed sentences

because thats the way i was thinking everything was

in fragments

but that wasn't all i said

-

i don't even know if you would've read it

-

this has to be real because

i can't comprehend that it isn't

it hurts

to think about so i just

don't

-

anymore

-

you dialled my number

i still can't

believe it

-

last night i got more stoned than i had been for a long time

it was unexpected

although sought after

-

i can feel your

hands

on my

cheek

and

neck

and your lips

on myne sometimes and i

bled

for you

on thursday night

because i thought it was bad

later

for some reason

i realised that

the cut

in between my breasts and

across the top of my stomch

is where my hands sits after creeping up my shirt when i'm singing

or trying to get to sleep

and it's

where i feel it

when i think of you

(i wonder if you get that to)

just the thought of you triggers a physical reaction

i want to know what that is

-

(it doesn't take alot to confuse me, i'm not aware of the passing of time)

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