do you?

in the dark of night
surrounded by past
ghosts, does your mind

cry out in an all consuming
need to black out?
and does your hand
search the sheets

for a sweet, soft flesh
that is not your own?
only to remember
that i am gone.
and you are gone.
does your stomach 

churn, making you
nauseas, clenching
the knots instead of
clenching my skin;
the way you used to
leave love marks on
my lower back, marking
me as your own.
do you wake in a
sweat, gasping in air,
choking on memories
that won’t leave your dreams.

do you?
or is this just me?

(Source: casuarius)

4 notes
clacking.

my eyes are tired now, i can hear my nails clacking on my keyboard; rhythmic like the rain. i swear that i could fall asleep and my fingers would continue to move. except that i have nothing to write about because all i want to write about is you and yet i have nothing to say because i pushed you away and i have already written all that i know (and made up a whole lot of things that i do not know). you messaged me the other day and i smiled for hours after you told me that i always pop into your mind. and still i couldn’t tell you that you never leave mine…because as much as i want it to be true, it isn’t. you do leave my mind. i only think about you when i am lonely which is how i know that what i “feel” for you isn’t real and hence why i have severed ties with you because i do not want to string you along. right now i am writing all that pops into my brain because i don’t want the clacking noise to stop and i want to drown out the image of your face that is embedded in my eyelids like ….like nothing else, i have no comparison because i can’t see you so clearly any more, you’re starting to fade and all i have are your inappropriate photographs that make my friends giggle every time they ask to see. but damn, you’re beautiful, even if you do know it more than you should. i almost messaged you just before asking if we could go kayaking because i love it and i know that you do too; i thought it may be fun. but i refrained. you’re welcome. i’m sorry. i’m sorry.

(Source: casuarius)

1 note
stagnant.

i remember how you stared at me
as you were about to exit my car,

silently asking permission to kiss me;
your lips were so soft and your hand
stayed stagnant on my thigh, as though
if you moved it then you would wake
up and it would all have been a dream.

i remember that you used too much
tongue, but i did not care as i gently
massaged it back into your mouth 
and only took how much i wanted.
i always speak of how i kept my hands
in my lap, tightly folded away from you,
away from letting you into my heart -


if i could remember differently, i would
remember my hands gently tracing your
jaw, feeling the stubble which i told you
to please never shave. and i would have
savoured your last touch by encouraging
you to move your stagnant hand over my
guarded heart, feeling it quicken for you.

(Source: casuarius)

5 notes
with lies.

i close my hand around the words you wrote
so delicately onto the paper, and now so
rough i crumple them until they dissolved into
cursive that resembles a dr.s scrawl.
your words so beautiful hold a charm in which
i am not yet immune and now i bleed them
into my hand so that i may not look upon
them but only feel them in my palm so
i can know the heat they would cause; a burning
heat but not filled with lust: with lies.

(Source: casuarius)

1 note
night’s mind.

i forbade you from circling
my day dreaming head.
so now you cheat,
taking over my
night’s mind.

(Source: casuarius)

0 notes
kitty jammies.

sometimes when i am feeling blue
(if i am wearing my jammies)
i look down at my kitty covered shorts
and smile because i remember
that there are cats in the world,
and as long as cats exist
nothing could really be that bad.

(Source: casuarius)

2 notes
what.

i count the moments in which you cross my mind.
actually i lied.
i don’t.
because you don’t cross my mind.
except for just then.
so i guess the count it at one.

what.

(Source: casuarius)

1 note
regenerating.

fragile fingertips 
trace calloused palms;
strength seeps through
the warmth of skin.

crackled lips
savour a soft mouth,
and whispered love
heals the burning sores.

(Source: casuarius)

3 notes
(i am a faerie) dreams.

some days i dream
of cherry blossom trees
and crystal clear streams
in which to walk along
as i talk to the deer
who give me directions
to the waterfall in which
the faeries have made
into a castle.

i dream that i shall
wash my hair beneath the
fresh water that glistens
like diamonds and fall
asleep in a canopy of
trees that place me in
their care and come morning
i shall wake but a fraction
of my size.

"hello world; i am a faerie",
i will sing, as my deer
friends smile at me
from their fields of
wild flowers that create
the most heavenly
scent in this majestic world
which sinks so gently
into my skin.

(Source: casuarius)

1 note
Dr. Matthew.

"hi, i’m one of the Dr.s here, my name is Matthew." he had glided so gracefully into my cubical that i barely noticed where he begun and ended until he smoothly slid into the chair that he had pulled closely to my bed. i gave him a small smile, more with my eyes than my mouth; i was taken aback by how softly handsome this man was. he was no outrageous heartthrob, but he did in fact cause my heart to flutter. 

a couple seconds had passed and he was still smiling down at me, “….and i may call you??” i remember blushing slightly and apologising, “i’m camille”. “lovely to meet you camille, now what seems to be the issue?”

the young Dr. seemed a little timid, yet he spoke so reassuringly that i felt as though he could cure me simply with his silvery voice. his smile was almost as gentle as his touch and as he talked i found myself drinking in his every feature. his was by no means perfect, yet all of his imperfections blended together to make one lovely male specimen. he had a red patch on the side of his face and i wondered if it flared up when he was flustered, or if it were always red. if he were flustered now this meant he was also a great actor for his demeanour was so calm (it was only upon his assessment that i realised he was a little timid). i enjoyed surveying him, and i liked the little red patches on his face, i don’t know why but it made him all the more handsome, adding another dimension to his features. on a second note, i feel as though handsome is too strong a word; don’t mistake me, he is good looking, but softer, more subtle and modest.

"if you don’t mind, i will just assess your abdomen now."
i pulled up the hem of my hospital gown and gathered it under my bust, making sure that the blanket covered over my knickers, leaving enough of my abdomen exposed for the Dr. to assess. he rubbed his hands together quickly, a sweet attempt to not shock my warm stomach. i doubt that he needed to however, i could tell that his hands were already warm as he pressed into my skin; slightly clammy, my imagination ran away with me and secretly hoped that he was slightly nervous to examine me. his examination was so gentle that i wondered whether he was getting the information he needed. of course he was, he was simply being kind, trying to cause me little pain as possible as he did so. 

————————————

now here i sit, a night later, at home in front of my computer, writing about a man whom i only saw for two hours. undoubtedly, he has forgotten about me already, and yet here i sit thinking about his gentle smile and how as the consultant spoke to me he leaned so gingerly against the wall drinking in every word the elder Dr. spoke, looking at me every now and then. i wonder what he thought during those looks: was he looking to see if i was listening? to see if i was okay? to study me in which the way i had studied him? or were they simply courteous glances you give to show that you are invested in the current conversation. most likely it is the latter, but a girl can dream. after all, what else are you to do when you are sick, other than fantasise about cute Dr.s. ah, that is the word to describe him, he was the perfect mix of cute and handsome; so imperfect that it all blurred into a man who made me giddier than i already was. 

(Source: casuarius)

2 notes
craves.

i ran down to the dried up field
where the daisies huddled in groups
with no other friends to touch;
the trees had burned their branches
and the rabbits fled to greener pastures.
but still i ran to the barren land
for with nothing around the daisies
found the peace in which i crave -


like a recovering alcoholic craves 
vodka or whiskey to soothe their
crackling throats which close over
without the fiery whip of a drink so
toxic it burns your very soul.

(Source: casuarius)

2 notes
3rd floor.

looking at the wet floor sign
i could have sworn that there
was a picture of a reclining cat.
yet on a double take, disappointingly
i realised it simply said “3rd floor”.

(Source: casuarius)

1 note
i am home.

you lay beneath me
with your arms wrapped
around my bare back so tightly.
i can feel our hearts beating,
thumping in time so rhythmically
as your face nestles into my neck
and i can hear you whisper,
"i am home. i am home, i home,
i am home.”

(Source: casuarius)

2 notes
painted perfect.

the water splashed your hair flat on your face,
your blue eyes squinting shut as your mouth 

laughed a series of resounding notes.

i wrapped myself around your back, between the soaking stones
that dribbled water off her back like a baby waterfall
that was waiting to grow her wings and run a river.

i sipped the fresh morsels from your shoulder
as i kissed the nape of your neck and felt
you shiver beneath me as a smiled into your skin.

you swam with me moulded so close to you as
the water continued to ripple around us and
i could see our reflections so happy in the crystal pool.

beneath the water we submerged ourselves and i saw you
all blurry yet devilishly beautiful as you pulled me towards
you and kissed me with the fresh water between our fiery tongues.

overhead the night was drawing near as the stars appeared in the 
sky so tinged with blues and purples, a swirl of divine beauty,
and in this moment the world and everything in it were painted perfect.

(Source: casuarius)

2 notes
lies.

i often tell myself that i would curdle at your touch;
that your breath would burn my skin,
leaving a hideous scar imprinted upon my décolletage. 
i whisper that your hands are calloused,
scratching at my wrists - exposing the map of my veins.
my lips would tell tales of the blisters you leave
as i lick the taste of you away from the crackling bite marks.

(Source: casuarius)

0 notes