Andyisonfire

My Box of Bethany I lie across our bed living the life we swore to live, living in the home that we swore to live in, and I cannot help but think that I love you more than all the earthly possessions we swore to have together. I pull from underneath our bed, my 'box of Bethany'. An old shoe box filled with memories of you and me and our time together. I open the cardboard lid which simply says "Bethany" on top. The first memory I pull from it is a small beaded bracelet that you gave me the night we met. It was cold, raining and windy that night. I felt terrible. You were a friend of a friend; we had gone to meet you under the bridge, th

I'm standing in the middle of an empty street, drowned in orange lamp light and freezing cold. I'm waiting for you to go to the party that you wanted to go to, "It'll be great, I'll stay sober and keep you company." It's not the first time you've said that and I'm damned sure it won't be the last. I see you at the end of the street, wrapped up in your best coat wearing the scarf I bought you at Christmas. A smile comes to my face and I think "At least he thought of me." You slip your arm around me and ask me how I am; I lie and tell you I'm 'great'. You smile at me smugly in a way that says "I told you so." I'm quite worried just now, this

Lover's Lie I stroke your soft auburn hair as you lie sleeping beside me, I run it through my fingers, take a deep breath of your sweet perfume and despite all the pain you put me through I still love you. I can't sleep because all I can is think of you, how you've wronged me, who you've been with, how I can never fulfil your hopes, and how deeply I hate myself for it all. I feel more like a burden than a boyfriend, a loser than a lover and a failure than a friend. So why are you still here...with me? Do you enjoy the torture I face just to stay with you. I gently close my eyes, fall asleep and a tear streams from my eye. I dream horrible d

Hollow Avenue On this still night in late February. Hollow Avenue was silent. The trees lay still in their winter grave, shadowing the entire street. Shrouded in darkness, the church stood dead for many years, and the sounds of the sermons were as dead as the hollow trees. The houses now empty and rotted, lined the avenue, and under the flickering street lights, as if from no-where, appeared a shadow. The boy forced his watch to his eyes, struggling to see the time under the blinking eyes of the street lights. 11:55 p.m. Looking at his surroundings he caught the church, the trees confined in their caskets of winter and the decaying houses.