Letters You Never Got

i.
I don’t understand why
                                                or where
                                                                or how
you’ve gone, but you have. There’s no
X marks the spot in the map in my soul;
I can’t find you. The GPS won’t work. I’m
a loss without you. Come back. I’m scared
and frightened and alone, stumbling down
alleys blind drunk 
in the hope
I’ll bump
into you. 
(but I know I won’t)
I can hope.

ii.

It’s hard not to miss you
when every atom
of every element
breathes your existence,
when every word
screams out and begs
to be fed
into your ears
again.

iii.

I fucking hate you.
How 
the
fuck
could
you
just
go
like
that
after
everything?
I fucking hate you.

iv.

How can love and hate be so closely
linked together, like two best friends
hugging and laughing - laughing at 
who? Me? You? Me. I hate you. I love

you. They’re both the same thing; I
wish you were here so I could slap you,
or kiss you. But neither love nor hate
matter because you are not coming back.

v.

A man who served me at Sainsbury’s today was wearing
your eyes. He must have thought I was mental - staring
at them like they didn’t exist. Oh, the surprise - you finally

decide to turn up, but scatter yourself in everyone - I see
your nose on a woman that looks like a man, I see your chin
in the spaces in between kisses of couples which doesn’t

make sense, but when did you ever? I don’t like seeing you
around here, everywhere. I was trying hard to forget but I
guess that you’re just not going to make it that easy for me.

vi.

Craving, growling, empty soul
rumbling
like an oncoming storm
I need you
back
I am starving for you
to love me again
I can’t stop
loving you and I know
you’re the only one
who can end all this anorexic pain.

vii.

Drowning in
year old
depression, stale
as my heart,
growing mould
in the cold
moss of my
soul. 
(thanks to you)

viii.

I fed myself a new person
today, an un-you real human;
stuffed myself until I was

blue in the face, bursting at
the seams of my chest, belly, -
like it was Christmas and they

were overcooked turkey. Then,
after, I ran to bathroom, stuck 
my fingers down my throat and

purged myself. Threw them up 
into the sink as a mess. I guess I’d 
sort of hoped you’d come out as well

but you didn’t. You’d glued yourself 
to my chest like a limpet, scarred 
yourself into my head. Get out.

ix.

If I write 
about you 
anymore

I think
I might

go even more insane,
but I can’t shake
your face
from my mind
from my heart

and I know I can’t
and shan’t ever
be able to do so. 
(no matter how much I want to)

x.

I don’t understand why
                                                or where
                                                                or how
you went, but you have. There’s no
X marks the spot in the map in my soul;
I can’t find you. The GPS won’t work. But
I think I just might be okay without you. 
Although,
that doesn’t stop me
stumbling down
alleys blind drunk 
in the hope
I might 
(just might)
 bump
into you. 
(but I know I won’t)
I can hope.