❦Clay Coloured❦

Bleak and bland, a bothersome blight.




I am made of clay
and everyone who passes by moulds me in some way.
You stopped and dug your fingers in.

When the sun rises, it wakes me
and I get out of bed to watch it.
I've made the decision to believe you think this:

We are warmed by the same sun.

When I stand by the sink at night,
filling a glass with stale tap water,
I imagine it was once consumed by you.
It is a closed system (it must make its way to me eventually).

There are things I'm afraid to say, like:
I dream about you almost every night.
Sometimes I think it'd be easier if this ended now.
I want to think myself lucky, but no need to get ahead of myself.
I want for you choke me, to kill me,
to put a pillow over my face and -

If I could, I would melt into you as we sleep.
When you'd wake, you'd shake your head,
wonder about that strange dream
and I'd be happily dispersed amongst your cells,
In seven years, I'd be gone completely,

There are things I won't tell you, like:
I'm glad to see you.
I wish we'd never met.