When I met you I became obsessed with them – made a ruling of my life by them.
A page filled with bullets making up points of how I wanted to do right by you.
Listing ways I could improve myself – prioritising objects I wanted to
own so that you’d love me –
Things I would deny myself –
Page upon page of numbers written in their margins –
Don’t show jealousy.
Letters and numbers swimming in my head
Deliciously coming together to form
The me I wanted to be for you.
One day you came to me like a stranger
And I saw my days were marginally numbered
And the bullets had blown up my only shot at keeping you.
Everything scattered then – like fridge poetry.
And you just left me there….