Tuesday, 16 February 2016

Fine Line

I'd always heard
There is a fine line
Between love and hate.
But it took little more
Than a speedbreaker jump
To go over to the other hell.
Love is a big four letter word
And I'm not big enough.
I only know it's more than a
Tingling of the toes and
Heavy breathing.
It's a stripping of your soul
From the soles.
Pulling at your feet till your knees
Bang on grass.
It is getting hit in the gut with
Your brother's cricket bat
Only a bit more pleasant.
It is a mob in your chest,
Scratching and banging against the bars of the rib cage.
It is an ache
In your empty hands.
It is a hysteria.

So what am I surprised for
When hate feels just the same.
When both I know are passionate
And on a Richter scale would read
Either eighteen or eight.
What am I surprised for
That the line is a pencil mark hardly visible
Rubbed on with fingertips until
Carbon outlines the fingerprints.
I should have known your tongue would make
Instead of kisses one day.
The promises made will be
One by one
Like shoelaces pulled out with no regard for the elaborate braiding.

When 'liar' became the only untruth,
I was left gasping for oxygen
Because somehow you were my plant
And I had never a green thumb.
But I won't just stop watering you.
You will not wither and dry.
I will not put you in
A blistering corner of the sun
To die a natural death.

I will
Light matches,
Burn cigarette holes
In your leaves.

1 comment: