OPERATE.

We lay together in your cold, pristine room with the street light outside shining on my face like an interrogation lamp. You always needed to know what was going on inside; my thoughts, my feelings and the fears which caused my nightmares. How was I to know this information was only desired for ammunition? The bayonet was hung up for now and you were still learning how to use it properly. How to slice into me where it would never heal. Your sheets were crisp and the bed hard, reminding me of an operating table. Soft lips pressed down hard on mine, forcing me to open up. How personal it is, to kiss. I stroked your limp hair away from your face and ran fingers down your neck. My baby.















Harsh bristles chafed against the smoothness of my skin. You lifted your head up, and although the light from outside caused shadows on your face in the darkness I could feel your almond eyes on me. "I love you." you said in the brittle voice that always seemed to be trapped inside your somewhere, like you were talking into yourself. The silence hung there like a man on the gallows waiting for the end. All I could think about was how irritating the light was in my eyes because when I looked away from it I was blind. I shifted about as I looked down and cleared my throat. Your hard, slim body tensed against mine as you lifted your arms and broke the embrace that had held us together. "Don't you love me?"

I shook my head remembering the first night we had met. How disinterested I had been and how you had pursued. Like a spoilt child eternally determined to get what you want you had told me I was stunning and had taken your breath away. Although I knew the chat up line was older than my Grandad I realised I had been single too long from being too fussy and decided it was time to have some fun. The good times didn't last long though and I soon saw the mood swings and the vindictiveness. Your venomous tongue could spit out poison and have me doubled over on my knees in minutes. Like a sculptor you would carve into me and transform me into what you wanted. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know what you want from me." I said. My voice was small and my lips curled into a grimace. I did love you. I just didn't know if it was enough. Your body sent an electric shock to mine as you jolted from my words.

All you ever wanted was the unconditional love that you couldn't get from your family. A Father in the army who came into your room at night when he returned on leave and a Mother who turned a blind eye to it, pretended to still be asleep as her husband swapped one bed for another. It was too much for me. I was too small a crutch for your pain. You climbed off the operating table that had ripped us apart and put us back together again with plasters of apologies and bandages of poorly thought out cliché gestures. We were each others novice surgeon and didn't have a clue how to make these scars heal. You looked down on me as I lay there wounded; your face denied of any emotion. I raised my hand to yours and when it was in my grasp you shook me off, sneered, and walked away.

ALCOHOL.

Repetition
and passionate discussions about biscuits,
oh how I miss it.
To be drunk
as we tank our belly's
full of yeast and fermentation:
A numbing sensation,
who cares about science anyway?
Today I got pissed
I wish you could have seen me baby.
I laughed so hard,
I was such a card and wit
and now I sit on my jack
with my back against the wall;
and the room is too thin
and the ceilings too tall.
Its caving in on me
as I try to sleep
in this heap of broken dreams
and incoherent chat.
I remember when we sat
and shared a bottle of wine.
Those were good times.
Friendly faces and poor graces,
but who cares about decorum
when we're having fun?
The music was too loud
and the neighbours complained
as it rained.
Shame it didn't wash away
the sick that stained
and the things we said
that we would never say
in a sober state.
I hate to talk about these things
that broke my wings
and made me fall,
but with drink it does call:
Honesty,
and the desire to talk and talk
and talk
as we walk to the kebab shop
for some chips
oops I let slip
so you stare with sad eyes
and I try to deny
the reasons i cry myself to sleep
but you shake your head
and questions questions
so many questions.
My heads in a whirl
and this girl wont shut up
so I smile and start singing
cos the alarm bells are ringing.
Frank Sinatra
you save me with New York New York
and the talk is over
and we're back on track
chatting about Coronation Street.
What a night
I'm beat
and the wine was too sweet.
There's this heat in my stomach
and my eyes are heavy,
legs like alphabetti spaghetti.
There's an A in my knee
and a J in my thigh
surrounded by words in legs that cant try
to move. So I decide to snooze
and I hope there's no bad dreams
to make me scream
but my heads too fuzzy
to focus on anything
but the buzzing in my ear
and the numbing of my face.
Who'd have thought
I'd end up such a mess in this place.