She is an
envious spirit
her eyes
flash green
sharp in the
soft candlelight

she wants to
burn the books
she wants to
burn the books
she is jealous
of the work
they make
the opalescent work
that shimmers
in different shades
and causes her to
cry

to think
as if
she was
not the
one.

Her envy
is borne

her envy
is born
of her
own hatred
for her
own self

it burns
it sparks
it explodes
like fireworks
in the night
the ache in the stomach
the buzzing in the ears
the numbness that overtakes
the tingles that run down veins
the tightness of the chest
the cheeks that seem wet

and burn

the throat burns

and is it?


Tears

tear her limb from limb
burn her before she can
burn those blessed books
before she

catches flint
and stone
feels the
chill of the
burning rocks
crashes one
and two
together like
orbiting moons

that spark
that falls
from within
her undulating
chest

her panting breaths
that hiccup
and stumble
and beg for
forgiveness
in the meadow
filled of beautiful
wisterias
lavender splintering
so esoteric
wisdom bred
and
arched for the
dolloped breath
of that
sunlight


which is to mean
her soul
battling
in the
garden of Eden
her soul
fighting those
calm
secure
others who

have their
heads on
right.

She is envy
is personified
feeling
of self hate
moulded to
mistrust
moulded to

action

burn the books.

Being that drifts
with no ripple
in the movements
of time

there is no
substance
to this figure
that walks through
the lonely mists

it was born
to be
a traveller
of its own
soul

it was born
to walk
on
whispers of
memories
never quite there

its heart is
like boulders
heavy and
cracked
never bending
bruising
or breaking
the ends shaking
it is shaking

walk on.

Do not look her in the eye
she will snare you
with her falsehoods
that seep like
oozing wounds
from those festering eyes

she is traitorous
do not look at her
when she cries
she is crying for
your attention
she does not need
help
she is crying
because she is
drama

she is queen of
elegantly saving
herself last minute
if she wants
to die
then let her
not like she
will
its all
just
fake

she's
fake

don't look at her
she will scrabble
under your own
bleeding skin
we all have problems
ignore hers
its not
like there's
no one
there

someone will look
it doesn't have
to be you

please
she is
only a
child
she needs
to be
taught
a
lesson
in humility
crying kids
don't get
hugs from
their mothers
crying kids
get locked
in dark
rooms
until they
stop crying
and start
bleeding on
the
inside

she isn't crying
anymore
just screaming
just screaming like a
banshee
she's disrupting
the peaceful
facade we have
constructed

silence
her

do it
she is
lying

do it

don't listen to her
pleads
she is not being
hurt
she needs to
stop
this
madness

please
hurt
her

see if she
cant take it

she is not a real girl
you know
she can take it
you know
its just words
you know
no marks but the ones she leaves
you know
no tears but the ones she brings on herself
you know

when she cries
its just for
silence
which makes her
stupid
because her room
is a
quiet and
lonely place
before she
starts to
make a sound

listen to that
its gone

she's gone

I tried
to die
last night
and its
the oddest
feeling
the next morning

as if doors
for a
whole life
I had
wished away
have opened
up again

I can dream
again
can cry a
thousand tears
can give
life
and
give death
I am
endless
possibilities
once more
even such
as
getting
better

I tried
to die
last night
and now
I have
to go
to school
and hide
my newest
scars

I don't
normally
do so
in an
obvious
spot but
I didn't
care
last night
I was
free
last night
my wings
were out
and open
I was
flying with
the peril
of my own
last night
I didn't
think
about
tomorrow
only those
last moments

I didn't
write a
note
I didn't
let anyone
know
except
the support
group of
machines
on the
internet

I tried
to die
last night
and now
I don't
know what
to do
with myself
I have
so much
time once
again
and the
pain is back
brimming
under the
surface

its always
there

I tried
to die
and this
morning
I remember
my reasons
and scoff
at my
own attempt

I flex
my wrist
and feel
the burn
of those
newly healed
scabs
glaring at
me
from the
trickling morning
light

the light
which
murmurs
in my
ear that
I have
survived
the night

I feel
so proud
and
ashamed
because every
second
living is
another
badge on my
sash
another sticker
added to
my growing chart
another birthday
cake
another hug
from my
dearest friend
another day
of chasing
those dreams
that are
still there

and it
lets me
know
that I
still have
fight
left

and it
lets me
know
that I
still have
someone
to fight.

This chasm is fathomless,
it falls
deep down
into the pits
beneath my stomach
built in
bones and flesh

it tingles within me
purrs with
unruly fury
when left alone
I feed it
fill it
compress it
down down into the
dark depths of my soul
so it will not
climb up
through the pit
skeleton limbs clanking like bells
until it
finally reaches my
delicate throat
and clamps down

I feel the
need of completeness
to feel full
it likes the taste
of my torment
the feel of
pins scraping my
limbs
it likes the
bile in my throat
the alluring look
of my
swirled content
in the sink
it gurgles my anxious
singing
it swirls my
desperate pleading
like fine wine
it loves the
gentle brush
of bloodied
fingers against a
trembling torso
that twitches in betrayal

it feels full
when I am torn
am split
between the
need to fill
and the need
to live

it smiles that
cruel and
cracked stretch of its
dark mouth
echoes of
taunts spilling
like the curls
from the print of
long forgotten
love letters

it is blackmail
to have
the choice of
feeding such a
dark hole with
tears or
morsels
the guilty taste of
those morsels
free of the
confines of my insides
the shame of the
tingles across
veins and
upturned limbs
of pale flesh sparkling
with glittering glee
begging for me

begging for me

to feel so full
yet so empty
and always
needing more

Blessed nightmares
ghouls and phantoms of
crystalised snow storms
that swirl around me
and catch my breath

it frosts
silent in the
winter's air
all stiffened in the
brittle wind
daring not to
move
holding the
spine straight
and
back still
cursed by the
fright
of waking the
monsters deep
within

laughter echoes
along the empty moors
grasses swaying stiffly
reluctant to dance
in the forceful wind
the high and roiling sound
rolls over the
curling hills
and down into
the
curdled bellies
of those
listening in

they sway
like porcelin dolls
crooked and cracked
solid and balanced
faces reflecting the
unforgiving light
that shines like
torch beams against the
soft nectar of their
pupils

they dance
the winter chalice
lips parted
as haunted
mellowed
tunes
fall from their tongues
and
soak into the
sodden soil
with
the desire
of
warmth

their fingers flush with cold
shivering
quivering
ever so slightly
as the
turrets of storm
pick up
and the
roaring of the
turbines
crackle their
clinking bones
against themselves
they clang
like rust
in the
bleak winter sun
hallowed hearts
beating
by force of nature
and
not
by choice.

She tastes
of clichés
and words
that I
like to
swallow

her cherry
chapstick
lip gloss
that I can
still feel
against me
dried like
blood
against my
subtle skin

she had
breathed hot
in my ear
and I
could still
feel the
heat in
my
undulating
chest

she smelt
of summer
sun
that shone
in my
eyes and
blinded me
but I
got used
to

she let me
hold her
let me
see her
vulnerable
and open

she tasted

so good