I used your photograph as a dartboard.

I had sex with your friend in your living room, while you were in the other room
I had sex with your friend in my living room, while you were in the other room
I cried, a lot, and didn't dare think about you
I walked from Waterloo to Stepney and thought my way back into my life
I walked through a desert with only a moon for company
I cried, a lot, and thought about you all the time until it stopped
I can't remember

I deleted all the emails you sent me. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. CLICK.

I sat down and wrote this:

Red Balloons

I filled them with my breath
Then stuck them to the wall with pins,
Five red balloons, plump as cushions
And in the shape of hearts.

The days pass, I wait for them
To shrivel up and waste away quietly
As is usual,
But they remain the same.

Shiny heads gorged with air
Hanging from strangled necks.

I do not take them down or even
Touch them for fear they will
Burst in my empty hands.

I went to your wedding and saw the way you looked at the man you were marrying.

I phoned my best friends and raved about you for hours. I told the story of you and me over and over until my throat felt as if I’d swallowed road grit and I couldn’t say another word.

I made a list of all the people I'd had a crush on before you. It was quite long.

An unhealthy combination of love poetry and furious masturbation.