Blacked out on High Violet in that little apartment with the filthy carpet
kicking the hair the vacuum couldn’t catch into wadded spirals, tight knots of copper keratin I could rub between thumb and forefinger
absolutely no leverage on how much of myself I could leave in a room at any given second
you just know that I fell in love for the first time and he picked out the colours of my eyes
spun scarves of green and brown and blue, twisted and tight-tied my arms to my sides
these are the colours of your yarn, he said, this is what you're made of
Sorrow found me when I was young!
In that little apartment, fashioned a misshapen love that looked nothing like me
one too slippery for him to hold and I told him so
went round to Hawker Street, soaked through sheets with salt water—
I fear an obligatory love, I fear needing anything—
I always misuse the word obligation, not necessarily a negative—
tried to be the most wonderful version, saw myself in the funhouse mirror, my reflected house of horrors, a girl that didn’t exist—
Sorrow waited; sorrow won!
Fuck the ending near ruined me, tore limb from limb from limb till I was but a pile of
body parts and hair, all of this hair like where did all of this hair come from and why did I colour it such a bright red I am not, never have been, a carnival of a person
the aftermath of love saw streams of women and men rushing to fill a void or fight a fire that had singed my fingerprints right off—
I am so sorry.
Love: the glaring stovetop; Love: the hotplate I lay my personality down on to burn.
Sorrow they put me on the pills!
Can’t listen to it anymore, having romanticised a shadowy room into one full of people that love me, could love me
begged my adult self not to play it again, Amber, I said, Amber please why go looking for the roots of things that have long since died
they fall apart in your hands, they settle into the lines like ash like dust like everything that could have been and that once was
the one thing you can’t do is go back, I leave nail marks all down the walls, screaming
It’s in my honey; it’s in my milk!
