Matthew English (4/2/1995 / Kent; The Garden of England)
Dear Diary; It’s him again. It’s him plaguing my mind, encompassing my soul. Meandering around my thoughts, trespassing on my morality; murderer of my inhibitions like a curse; A curse sent by a Pagan Priest to destroy me, depress me. I feel as if I’ve been thrust over the front line, left to wander no mans land- explosions; the flash of light is him. The debris of my life shattered like broken glass, a cracked mirror- seven years bad luck seems a lucky escape.
Oh Diary, when I close my eyes I see him, smell him- his sweet perfume permeates my senses as I fall to my bedsheets- oblivion. My dreams, they’re only him. The only relief to my tortured life. It’s really beautiful; we frolic in the sunlight, lay together under the moonlight. My dreams feel so real, like his arms are really around me- I feel them. Feel his fingers caress my soft naked skin from head to toe. We kiss and then make love- all night, every night. His gentle touch makes me groan and scream his name- “Oh Matthew”;
“Matthew.. matthew.. matthew…”
I wake up mangled in my bedsheets alone; no arms around me- just my cold desolate bed. Diary, please tell me why- why can’t I be with him? Why can’t he love me? Is this really too much to ask? To wake up to this fairy tale, a happy ending?
Alas, he doesn’t love me does he.
I mean, why would he love me? - there are so many other girls for him to fall for.
‘There are many more fish in the sea’- they’re the words to my curse, the ritual that spellbounds my life.
It’s been twenty years. Twenty years I’ve been oppressed- a slave to this obsession. But of course, you must know this by now, Diary. Every day I write, everyday the same words. I apologise, but you are the only one who can listen- my penfriend- my life. I just pray that one day; he, Matthew- my soul mate and unrequited love- the noose around my neck, the ink on my suicide note
-will return those words, those forbidden words- ‘I love you.’
Maybe one day I’ll read them for real- on his lips, not just my own reflection.
For now I’ll just wallow, in self pity and remorse over this one-sided affection- fueled by the bottle as I slip myself into a chronic sleep. Rum my nightnurse as you read my memoirs, the secret to my obsession as my jagged life tears at the seams. I bid you farewell for today, forever? - maybe tonight I’ll be lucky and finally be with him, my Matthew; in an eternal sleep.
Comments about this poem (#1 by Matthew English )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings