My Boy (We’ve Fallen Out of Love)

My boy, my boy
our light has gone out
and it’s cruel you keep
fuelling my stay in your life.
Especially when
my boy,
your face is tight
and it closes on me
like a lie, like a lie of a book
that you’ve read and you’ve liked
or pretended to like
and my boy, my boy
it gnaws my insides in the night
slick and sick-making
when you slide
in and out, in and
out of my life

like a car crash in the
back of a fuzzy
black-white
and buzzing diner TV
in the night
easy off,
easy on – and me, I’m undone
unravelling with every
disinterested tug
of my threads

and I don’t have friends
my boy, my boy
you opened me
like a magazine
you might’ve been interested in,
once, but found
unfulfilling. I’m lacking.
Look at my eyes;
I don’t sleep so much, you
you give me just enough
beaming, yellow praises
and places and cares
to keep me
hanging here
one foot on the chair

to you, I am music
that used to ignite
your pallor, your strain.
You hotfooted it
into my thoughts like a
dancer – how many times have I
dreamed of you
before you were cool and well-wishing
and this life was an imitation
my boy, my boy,
of something brighter and burning
and greater
and greater?

In the theatre, the theatre of
your tepid, inobtrusive home
Kate Bush lamented loving and
hating and waiting
at the window
and I bent to every fevered
yank you made to my
matter. You made me matter,
and now your withdrawn favour
is paralysing
from the heart down, and every
frown, lip quirk or smirk
is icier
frosting the air that once was afire.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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