Under the Mulberry Tree

Some days
I just can't run fast enough,
or far enough,
to escape my mind.

Here encompassed
by the expansive branches
of your mulberry tree,
I feel protected.
I feel safe.
Completely untouched
and completely untouchable.

Ice cold on the inside.
A tornado of death
swirls through my head.
Whipping up debris,
throwing my body around
and spitting me into the dirt.
Bruised and lost.

I go searching for you,
and a warm cup of tea.

Writing in Bars with Boys

Pen, paper.
Bar, Band.

Pot of Tea; English Breakfast. 

Words seem to come

easy. 

He plays my song. 

A smile paints my lips. 

His words eclipse 

those wandering 

in my mind. 

My thoughts

inky smudges

unfinished, unclear.

Avoiding, over-thinking. 

Paralysed by temptation.

Lost in his eyes.

Drowning in my cup of tea.

Between Dark & Dawn

I am drinking.
Instant coffee.
From someone else's mug.
It's OK , she's in Spain.
Sugar doesn't fix it.
The taste makes me
smack my tongue
on the roof of my mouth.
Physically; I am present.
Mentally; I am absent.
Lost in a world
between the dark and dawn.
Stuck still between
the coolness of the plaster
and the silhouette
of your body.
It doesn't feel awkward.
There is comfort
in sharing the inky night.
And watching you
breathe, mumble and sigh.