When I see you now,
Surrounded by sterile white,
I feel pity well up
In my throat, my mouth
Like a poision
Slowly killing me,
As you're killing yourself.
Haunting me
In all my lonely dreams.
All consuming guilt
And shame.
Is anyone to blame?
And I find myself asking questions
No one wants to answer.
Sinking, into the vertigo,
Wishing for an untouchable,
Euphoric state.
Anywhere but here or there,
Instead,
I hold your lukewarm tea,
With shaking hands,
To your chapped lips
And pray
For an act of grace.
Higher School Certificate by laurenjerry, literature
Literature
Higher School Certificate
I dream of Paris,
Of basking in the shadow
Of the Eiffel Tower
Of flirting; Shamelessly
With unappealing French men,
In stilted French
The result of
My Higher School Certificate education.
I dream of Greece,
Of following my fathers footsteps
Sailing the Mediterranean Sea
Ruled only,
By the desire to marvel
In the artefacts
That enthralled me during,
My Higher School Certificate education.
I dream of my own island,
Nestled deep within
The Caribbean
Of horseback riding,
Amongst the frothy ocean, spray
Of making love
Between cool white sheets
Writing endlessly
Using the skills derived from
My Higher School Certificat
Out across the ocean,
I imagine you as real
Not a fictional friend
Who Ive never met,
But one who I havent seen
For a long, long time.
Youve always awed me,
With your quirks and style
Your knowledge,
Stretching to the stars
And Ive always envied,
Your talent and your advice
Embraced by the world still.
Youre a force of nature,
Youll take the world by storm.
Youre a Grammar Nazi,
An Emmasaur
With a heart and smile so warm.
Your picture is still my wallpaper,
I just thought Id let you know.
So you inspire me
You twist my words and meanings,
So youre a rainbow
A firework
An endless cliché.
So youre special
And you dont like to be ignored,
And Id give you
All my attention
If youd just give me the time.
So you hate me
But Im beautiful,
And you want me all the time
Stop fucking up,
The sound waves
I cant handle your mind games.
So this is it
Im supposed to wait here,
Until youre ready
To touch me again,
Why cant you
Just want me again?
You consume me. Not because I love you, and not because you're
special, you are, but that's not the reason. It's because I spend
every single second, of every single day wondering what happened.
Wondering what I did wrong, what I did to make you hate me so much.
It's like when you get an answer wrong on a test, one of the ten mark
questions which sends your overall mark down below the depressing line
of failure.
But instead of getting an answer at the end of the wrong question, or
comments to improve, there is nothing. No comments, no 'see me after
class', no 'good luck next time'. And I hold the question paper
against a flame, wond