Twelve.

I had a nightmare last night.

I watched you slowly implode.

Your skin unfurled like fists

And you couldn’t speak through clacking bones.

Eleven.

Vomit encrusted your lips

In replacement of laughter.

Every syllable you rasped fell to the ground in a pill,

Daring me to swallow.

Ten.

Wires grew from your toes,

Splaying greedily over gravelly flesh,

Eating you (alive?)

Your fingers were syringes.

Nine.

I tried to hold your hand

But you injected me with loss

And watched my skin creep into black.

Eight.

You are no monster.

You do not drink tears, and smile like a watery noose.

You are just…

Seven.

Broken.

Weakness doesn’t suit you,

It hangs like an ill fitting blazer.

Six.

And the sky isn’t ready to hold you yet.

It’s not all sunlight baths

And moonbeam cuddles.

Five.

Can you hear the celestial tantrum booming?

You can’t climb that long, spindly stairway

In such a frail state.

Four.

Regrets, fears, memories

Come pounding towards you in white coats

Three.

As your heart curls up like an old dog

And waits for the storm to be over.

Two.

Remember, when you’re dancing drunkenly amongst dreams

That I will watch the sky for the rainbows you create

One.

Forever…

Nought.