The girl at 2

That girl
With hair like a storm
black cloudy waves
and a face like the sun
scorching angry round.
twirls a black stick
at 2 every night

Dips it into my world
and
sips me in
into
Technicolour blasts

And I see her go
at 2.30
through smokes
of
yellow and black
fading iridescence

I hadn't done anything like this before.
it'd been six years, three boyfriends- two year tenures with the
last one still running
and here i was
on an almost blind date
with a guy i barely knew.
a neighbour, a fellow english enthusiast
dreamy eyes, stick thin
smoker.
that's all i knew of him.

until
a planned coffee date.
only that we didnt really have coffe
and i dont know if it really was a date.

but i do know
that among the 7 fuckin billion people
in the world
i met one more.
a stranger from the hills
who showed me his scars
and let me in
for one hour
into the life of a boy
lost in a huge huge city.

I want to write to you
And tell you that when
At times you feel like you'll break
with another breath
when you melt into the sheets
like a stubborn stain
and feel the waves on you
drowning, stifling-
screaming SOS under water comes out as just
another air bubble
full of vacuum
and no words
When you're knocking at hearts
fifteen fucking thousand kilometres away
and you feel a million laughing eyes
breathe down your words
burying them deep
down your throat chest belly and finally your toes
until you finally wriggle them off
with the flip flops you wear everyday
and you leave them behind on streets and in rooms
words you breathe out in
night skies or smoky rooftops
Looking like invisible air bubbles
silent, and full of vacuum.


I want to write to you
your words
that got backspaced into eternal oblivion.