thunderstorms in june
he threads daisies
through her wet hair
he wraps bindweed
around her bruised neck

two young lovers,
hiding from the world
in a glistening meadow,
muddy bodies tangled
on a muddy blanket

her, a siren of the suburbs
with berry stained lips
lays with her apollo
with eyes of august honey
and a rifle instead of a bow

pulling bugs out of each others hair
wondering if life will always be like this
or if it will change
and how these memories
will feel in the distant future

as the chorus of crickets begins again
after the storm has cleared
the sun descends like a halo
we can't be late
it's time to go

her combat boots
hit the snow
jumping from
her window

stuffed her backpack
full of sweets
lollipops,
her favourite treat

bunny pajamas
and braided hair
she shivers but
she doesn't care

into the night
she wanders away
looking for somewhere
safe to stay

you can't live
on dreams alone
you need
to return home

"but they'll hurt me!"
she begs and pleads
she cries and gets
down on her knees

she looks so pretty
with her doe eyes
but nobody cares
what a surprise

"i don't think i'll go,
i'd rather die",
she turns away
and waves goodbye

another tween
suicide
another angel
chose to fly

i've got
intrusive thoughts
classic psych ward
grippy socks

put me
down to dream
floating on
quetiapine

angel wings
paper white
too close to the sun
they'll catch alight

too close to the dark
they'll drag me down
like the time
i tried to drown

because either i'm
feeling high
or else
i want to die

that's why i'm here
in the locked room
pacing up
and down the gloom

the warden says
its time for bed
trust me it will be
good for your head

i close my eyes
and dream of you
all the struggles
we've been through

yes i know
i'm insane
but i have you
to share my pain

from the cradle
to the grave
i was born
to be your slave

even though
i run away
i'll never forget
the things you say

even when
you drop dead
your voice will be
inside my head

just like a leash
around my neck
i am still
a nervous wreck

when you don't tell me
what to do
i still look up
searching for you

even when
you go to hell
heralded by
the church bell

your prints will be
all over my soul
the way abuse
takes its toll

staggering home after dark
pine needles in my hair
i've become a catholic mother's
worst nightmare

bruises and cuts
my dress in a tangle
crawling through
a raspberry bramble

ruined makeup
smudged with spit
he called me angel
but that isn't it

lost my cross necklace
somewhere in the dark
the one from my grandma
that shimmers and sparks

i'll do anything
because i'm in love
and that matters more
than the heavens above

i want to be
a mad artiste
i don't want to
contain the beast

with pills and trips
to the ward
i want my voice
to be heard

either be famous
for my art
or be famous
for breaking hearts

cut off an ear
use blood for ink
a starry sky
in tulip pink

when my death
shows up on tv
teenage girls say
i wish that was me

i lean my head on your arm as the radio drones on
rain splatters the windshield and it is cold,
so cold outside and the sun has set (i have to be home soon)
but it is so warm here with you that
i ask you to drive us off a cliff
because last month you asked me what mania feels like
and i know now that it is the held breath moment
between euphoric love and the world coming crashing down
like the final scene in one of those artistic movies
that i love so much and that you never got
but you suffered through watching for me