He is narcissist of highest character
is sunshine that is so smug
with its
wide smile
and rays that
poison

yet sunshine is
still your happiness

he is holder of many hearts
he likes to clutch them like
soft baby skin
to his soft chest
and feel the
beating and
warm gush
of blood
against
him

it feeds him
some say
like your eyes
never could
like the spark
that
pumped
like the
breath never could

that
beating
marvel
never could

like you
never could

he tells you that he has always loved the sun
you believe it is because he
sees himself when he
stares at it
in the reflection of the
car door

it slams behind him
as he steps over the
threshold

he does not whisper
of how your lips
were the key to his

he does not let his tongue
trail across your aching chest
as he murmurs
of how

you are the sun
baby
you shine so bright
baby

your skin is so soft
baby

sometimes you believe he has forgotten
that he was once you
was once the boy who lied
beneath the hungry tiger
and let its jaws
wrap upon his neck

and squeeze

sometimes
gentle narcissist
is he,

he likes to hold you to his chest
to feel your heart
and whispers about how
beautiful
you are
and how he

doesn't care

a pang shoots through your chest
and you feel tears leaking from you
you feel as if he has betrayed you

and then he

puts down your heart
looks you in the eye
and says

I don't love you for your beauty
baby
I love you for the fire
that spurs my wind
and
darkness that
sets my
skin aflame

Should
never have to
face the
thickened
sticky
white and
creamy
cheesy
cliched
wrath and
terror
of her
mother's smile.

Should
never have to
flinch
inside
behind walls
made of
bricks
behind
barricades
of
stone
wrapped
in
bubble-wrap
at her
mother's
glance.

Eyes
should
never
hold
so
much
power
within
the
flash
of
discontent.

She should not
live
on a boat
always
biding time
waiting for
storms to pass
for
waves to
curl
and crack down
upon her
head
down into
the sand
that
holds her
down into
the dark
that
kisses her
goodnight
down into
the brutal
flick
the tap on the
glass
clench
of
the fingers
twitch of
the jaw

should never
have to
wait
for the
mother's roar
to
echo
through the
chamber
of her heart
until
silence
envelopes
her soul
and she
can sleep
without

fear.

Should
never
fear
her
mother's
evening breath
the
gentle and
stilling
exhale
a sigh
a brittle
and
glassed sound
that shatters
against her
tightly
pursed
lips
locked
mouth.

Should never
tell the heart
to
quiet down
and let
her run
like a
good
child
ignoring
the warning
bells
which
everyone else
seems to ignore
the words
that leave
her
stubborn
lips
in the
joke she
tells
the story
she
preaches
the hesitated
eye
widening
limerick

the expected
story
to tell
her
friends

her
mother's
wrath
tastes like
fire in
her belly
sulphur in
her throat
and
metallic
lingerings
of
biting
her tongue
to
suppress
the
screams

'what can you expect'

'my mother gets like that'

'she attacked me'

'but its okay'

'I was stubborn'

Harrowed eyes
beckon
from the
shades of
jacaranda branches

it is
almost poetic
how false
true pain
can
shine

almost
like a
lip
bitten and
hacked
down to
the
stumps of
flesh
trying to
pursue
a mimicry
of joy

'oh hail'
'oh hail'
the sunshine
bellows
from the
gallows
the glinting
rusted
metal
so alike
your eyes

'oh rain'
'oh rain'
'Tis not
rain but
mellowed
waterfalls
falling from
the heavens
with the
most
regal
of graces

'oh mine'
'oh mine'
the haunted
quail
of a
hunter
beneath
jacaranda shades
rattles
and hisses
like the
exotic beast
within her skin

'oh do'
'oh nay'
is the echoed
tantalizing
that never
lets up.

My lips
twist like
the door
that never
opens
the
lock
clicked shut
that shudders
as the
screams
bang
against it

a
drum's
skin

I let
my
eyes
like windows
darken
as they
fall
over you
that
cursed sweep
of
gaze that
leaves you
twisted
like
my lips

you are
devil born
are
witch blood
are
red hot
blood
pumping
rusted
heat against my
jealous
flesh
you light up
like
rockets
burning
against the
ever silent
sky
you are
incandescent
and
my
eyes
darken with

envy.

Honesty hurts,
Omission stings,
Regret burns,
so I balm the what if.

Answers:

"I'm here if you need me."

Answers:

"I think we need to talk."

Answers:

"I'm sorry, I think we need to talk about this."

Answers:

"Do I know anything true about you?"

Answers:

"I called them. I'm sorry."

Answers:

"Well I did it again, I had to, it never ends."

Answers:

"Maybe we can't do anything, but I'm still here."

Answers:

"I met someone... else."

Answers:

"We broke up, I wasn't going to leave anyway."

Answers:

"Hey, I love you."

Answers:

"Do you hate me? Why do you do this?"

Answers:

"I don't believe you."

Answers:

"Its me as well."

Answers:

"I don't believe you. I'm sorry, but, I don't."

Answers:

"Take care."

Answers:

"I told them, I had to, I'm sorry, I'm worried, what if it... I know you trusted me but some things overwrite trust."

Answers:

phantom touches across time and space,
we walk the tight tropes in between worlds,
the lines of acrylic is only paint after all,
the future is a facsimile of our minds,
the branches rot and stunt themselves to please us,
impossibilities fuel an eager mind,

Answers:

"everyone you have ever met is in black and white,
we hear them in stereo,
the voices mingle and copulate whilst we still embrace,

still,
embrace."

Answers:

"Nothing lasts forever,
but I don't care,
because best friends forever,
is ******* magic,
so I'm not leaving."

Answers:

I never told you.
I never will.
But some things are best left in print.

Where will it end
when my hands bleed
my knuckles cry
my teeth grit from their
sandstone edge
when the world halts
when the moon
does not rise
when I stare
into the burning mercy
of the sun until
I cannot see the
horror of myself
when the books have
no more letters
and pages to fill
when I am content

in my dreams perhaps

when I am content
and do not think
about the
burgeoning
suffocating
all taking
all giving
all consuming
blood on my hands
blood in my eyes
blood as hair
red as rubies
burning that
burns me from
the inside
like I was

born the burn.

When will it end
this quest
this adventure
of the soul
sword out to
protect my most
precious mistakes
little gems
of dangerous
and sacrificial
memories
when she has
hurt me
beyond repair
bones lying limb
and curved
like loose
spaghetti strings
blood is
back in business
is art
and is movie
and blood
my ******
conscience
always seems

to forgive her.

When will it end

when I have left

when she has left

when
my
b
o
d
y
has
left
me.

She holds her hand
to her heart
ears thrumming
like beating drums
from the thumping
that courses like
drugs
under her
golden
skin

She lets air
flood her
lungs full
her eyes
open wide as
she
lets the
tide of
darkness
filter down
into her
vision

she is
monster girl
is
child of
night
is star flecked
freckles and
evening soda
luke warm and
bubbles that
drip
sticky
like blood
down her
cheeks

the tears
taste like
ruined salt
unfiltered and
*****
like her
coarse tongue

she wails
to the
evening moon
which
shines with such
mellifluous
glee
cruelled
amusement
tenderised by the
beating down
upon her
soggy and
dribbling
heart

red paints
the
nails like
polish
she
puffs hot
and
heavy breaths
against the
metallic gleam
her teeth
shine like
canines
from the
howling terrors
of the
engulfing
forest

she howls
to the moon
which shines
with such
jealousy
for she
is more
mysterious.

the sadness succubus
leeches on my shoulder
hissing gruesome fickle things

i crawl across the floor
lift my head
to speak

a visage of a family
painted in the door
outstretched like a moment of reprieve

held by
contemporaneous emotion
a shrieked laugh wets my face

leech to boy
boy to leech
a man's only companion

Run boy

let the wind
rush wish
to catch up
with your
motorised limbs

let the
sun set
falling want to
coo as
quick as
you can
race your
weary
smile

let the sky
and the
nighted blanket
have envy
of your
magnanimous
retreat

remember
the starry
eyes of
that boy
you
whispered
goodbyes
to
on his neck
like kisses
like
gentle breaths
like promises
the whiskered
kitten in
your heart
which purred
as he
held
your hand
so tight
you
could barely
stop the
wilted
smile
and
flooded
heartbeats from
drowning you
whole

he held
your hand
so
tight
you thought
he
wanted
to  
run too.

Nail
half crescent
imprints
of fossilised
hands
they hold you
you trace the scars
they hold you
and you
wish they
would keep
on holding on
as you
run.

Run boy
run into the sun
let the
memories
of open fields and
flower chains
and dotted kisses
trace your
heart with
strength
let yourself
run
until the
city walls are
snowflakes
against the
mountain
until your home
is only
a house
in your dreams
until he

until he is
only a shadow
on the
horizon
and you can
keep on
running
with his
words
on the backs
of your feet.

'love you.'

Run boy
so one day
you can
run on back
and

take him
with you.

Paint me reckless,
with dotted eyes of unencumbered possibility,
rouged blushes of flushed athletic extremes,
paled hair that flows like waterfalls and broken valleys.

Dream me loving,
so that my gentle smile shines as bright as the waking sun,
my womanly embrace is as comforting as the silent moon,
eyes flash with consuming devotion, wide open and hoping for reciprocated picnics.

Curl me 'round the shadow of your doubt,
and I will be a voice of infinite confidence,
booming with the power of the earth as it spins on before and after,
the titled nonsense of nature, bringing you up to the skies before dropping you back into the hands of men.

Stamp me goodness,
with a golden halo of invisibility,
heroes shine of selfless deceptive gratitude,
blue quake of the ocean's roar, to sweep you away from dreams of darkness...

into the burgeoning belly of the hydra,
paint it homely,
and within its stomach will become yours.

He is
mystery
curled in
dark eyes
and a
smile that
makes her
want to
sing.

She is
suspicious
of his
glances
that he sends
like
birthday cards

she believes
them
obligatory
and
non representative
of his
true feelings

she is
cursing him
like
winter storms
that
curl around her
wrists and
tie her
to the
leaking ceiling

he always
says
hello

she wonders
what it means

she knows
he
would never
look at
her

she is
not much

but she
cannot stop
her
heart from
squealing
like some
babies
favourite
bunny
as he
shines
so radiant
and

sincere

in her
direction

she thinks
she might
hate him
for being
so
god
****
lovely

he is
too similar
to the
warm
wind that
crashes over her
like
waves
the warm
water
that gives her
gold dust tingles
the gentle
hand that
rests
on her
cheek and
slowly
drifts like
icebergs
down
with small
fingers
to the
crest of her
smile

she
thinks
his
sparkling
eyes
are
her
worst
enemy

Do not look back he said,
into the starbursts of your lover's eyes
into the dark pits of what you left behind
into the burning sun that traces your tiny figure
into the drowning need that will wrap you home
into the drowning need that will suffocate you home
into the drowning need that will take you home.

Do not go home he said,
where the windows whine
the doors creak in warning
the footsteps echo like gunshots
the gunshots echo like footsteps
her words echo like gunshots
the gunshots do not echo.

Do not hold me he said,
like he was ghostly
pale as the moon
face pulled taught like a rubber band
eyes dark with warning.

Do not hold me he said,
for he feared the arms would choke him
the arms would pull at his hair until
he was
falling
into the arms
and he cannot handle the warmth
the buzz of conflict
the fight in their veins
knuckled up fighting fists.

Do not let her he said,
as if he could say that
as if she had not hurt him too
as if he was real.

Do not look back he said,
as if I had left at all
as if someone was telling me to leave

as if he knew.

The dark eyes
of the one
you love the most
and
always forgive
no matter
the consequence
hang
silent
deadly
titled up
to the drowning sky
teeth pulled back
jaw out and
empty
for the howls
to fill

she wears black
to
camouflage
her

her bright
skin,
its canvas
is so
pale that
sometimes
she thinks
she can
carve
into her
own flesh

you swallow
in disgust
bees burrowing
down into
the rocky
falls of her
bottomless
stomach
the buzzing
sounding
so loud
from your
vantage point
of looking down
into the
fathomless
pits
of her
soul

you ache as
she
feasts
on your
raw and
tender
juices

blood is the
sweetest
wine
she whispers
voice thick
with lust
as your
veins
pound
against
your skin
she looks
like she
could
swallow
you whole

and you
feel
like you
could
let her

she licks
her lips
for she
so loves
the flavour
of
torment

she is monster
is devil blood
is canines
tearing
against the
scarred fabric
of your
skin
is forgiveable
is only animal
is mindless
is drenched from
head to toe
in the rain
that comes
pouring down
from the heavens

she is
still not
clean
she is
still
******
pretending
the lipstick
she wears
is

animal
friendly.

I read your letters
deep into the belly of night
the beast claws at my bruised eyes
sleep is savagery beyond measure
fatigue follows close behind
but the words sink claws into my skin
and I cannot help but reread and remember
when those claws were more than phantoms

Ants are crawling up my arms,
Biting and squirming like a second skin,
Pulling my heart from my chest in frantic tones,
Eating at my organs like leeches and beasts.

They squabble with one another,
Fight over who gets the fingers and toes,
Bring chills down my spine regardless of the donned layers,
Itch at my scalp just waiting for me to pull my hair.

I glare at them,
But am pliant and suave,
Simply lying there,
Letting them take control.

Am I nothing but a planet?
A hill for them to rest upon,
And eat,
And survive,
At least I serve a purpose for these ants.

I long for them gone,
And know if I stand they would fall,
But do not,
For uncertainty and lead in my limbs weigh me down.

The ground stares harshly up at me,
Whispers of grass ruffled spitting insults to my coiling stomach,
I see the ants crawl away,
If only for a moment,

And I miss them.

Trust
that soon these feelings will end
Hope
that my fears are only self-esteem
Fear
that I'm right about everything
Fury
that I am not strong enough to lift myself out

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.

I wear my hat,
it sits upon my head,
covers my hair,
shields me from the sun,
makes wind breakers for my skin.

I wear my hat,
it is my choice to wear it,
I like the colour,
I have worn hats in the past,
they say sun safety is important.

I wear my hat,
for no complicated reason,
and no one assumes,
that someone,
has forced me to wear this hat.

I do not wear it for the hat goddess,
I do not wear it to protect me,
I do not wear it because it is expected,
sometimes I do not even wear it because it looks good,
I like the colour.

It is my hat,
and my choice to wear it.

She closed her eyes,
the sunlight burned
at her closed lids,
it frayed her lashes
like many burning
lashes across
her back.

She closed her eyes,
and the world kept burning
the voices
never stopped
burning
she was born to burn

don't you see

she was born to burn
fireflies and
whiskey
breathless burn
fire storm
ablaze night sky
stars
crashing
she could
still see it
behind
closed eyes

those closed doors
never kept them out
the burning
voices
her skin
it was
a voice
it begged her
it pounded against her
to burn it
burn something

burn herself

burn the door
burn the curtains
burn the bed

lean against
pull around
lie down and

sleep in the burning bed

ignore the
voices
behind the door
let them
scream
you
let it
burn

she

let them
burn.

We have all the time in the world
She coos to herself
Trying to pull herself out
From the pit she has buried herself in.

We have all the time in the world
We have forever
With such a cursed double-edged sword as life
Giving us freedom and pain.

She claws her way with
Dirtied fingernails
Chapped lips
A crinkled smile like a chip packet
Out of the dark hole.

The sun is too bright
And she cries out like the
Monster
She has become.

'I have everything'
She says, because it is true
She holds love like a dying bird
Smothering its freedom in a hope to keep it with her
She strangles knowledge with
A dark mind
Which thinks of nothing but broken records and the
Repeat of
'I hate myself'.

Life is beautiful
She muses as she spreads her darkness with her
Tainting all those she speaks to
Even with a glance they become ruined.

Why do you love me
She swears like it is a
Foul curse
As her mother stares at her
With too old dark eyes
That speak of ignorance
And biting knowledge.

The wind howls
'I hate you'
As if it were consoling her
Maybe it was.

It sweeps her off her feet
And carries her out to somewhere else
She had been standing too long
Almost looking living
And now needed to die for a week or so
Bury herself again
And wallow
As if her world were imperfect.

She walks to school
Always tugging at her sleeve
Always wondering if they see it
But don't care
If they see her
But don't care
If they whisper about her
But don't care.

She wonders if they care.

'Look away'
She lies
She wants a hug
But she also wants a slap
And a shout
And for someone to say
'Snap out of it, you're not a child.'

She is a child
Even if she is not
Even when she is
Her eyes are old
Yet she has seen no war
Or violence
No one hates her
No one that matters
But yet her eyes seem to absorb the elderly
As she looks around her
Stealing life from others.

'I curse my empathy'
Even when someone sneers she wonders why
She pities them
She wishes to understand their hate
She doesn't heal her bruises
She longs to heal other's bruises.

Yet she is still innumerably selfish.

The cow.

She looks behind her
Someone is there
Always there
Paranoia, hypersensitivity
She sees people who aren't there
Always about to tap her on the shoulder
And she spins around
Heart racing
Breath catching
The anxiety throb in her leg pulsing again like clockwork...

No one is there.

What do they want
She thinks loudly
Hoping they can hear her
And she won't have to say it out loud.

Truly she is selfish
Even if they asked her
She would deny them
For she hates them
All of them
For they are happy
And she is not.

Why am I angry
She whispers mournfully
She should be grateful
Look at her house
Dog
Friends
Parents
Cuts
She is so lucky
She should feel happy
Doesn't she have it all.

It is not a question
She bangs out nonsensically
Drumming away
Her fingers tapping in anxiety
And fear
And maybe sadness
And maybe cryptic malevolent amusement.

She climbs back down into her pit of despair.
Its warm.

How oddly comforting.

a sonnet springs surprise
over the ovular
eyes of earthly elves
angels.

The body sneers in hatred,
Girl, she is always hurting it,
Pulling it this way and that,
Cutting hair off like limbs,
Scratching marks into the functional skin,
Leaving the stomach empty for the cold to get in,
Pinching skin and chewing lips,
Girl makes the body look like a circus act,
A crudely drawn picture littered with cuts,
Face splotched with make up,
Girl is beautiful, the body can tell,
But Girl lies to herself,
And refuses to believe the truth in front of her,
Blandly pasted on her skin like a brand,
BEAUTIFUL, even the body can read it,
Scowling as the walls rumble in starvation,
Skin itches from melted candle wax,
And eyes burn from staring at the sun.

The sun is not as beautiful as Girl,
The body does not understand why she stares so long,
The only reason can be stupidity,
And Girl is not stupid,
No matter how many times she says she is,
The body knows the truth,
Sees the intelligence behind her eyes,
Curled despair around her wrists,
Trailing up her shoulders and through her hair,
Like searching hands,
The body can feel the phantom hands,
Scratching like pins on the skin,
Drawing blood with the ghostly presence,
The body does not remember the hands,
The body had healed from it.

Only Girl remembered,
And knew her reasoning,
For the flat torso and scratched skin.

this sea of serenity,
floating eternal and faultless,
plumes of drifting tranquility,
is but a hair's breath from its inferno,
the rising tide,
and crashing irascible consequence of such drowned passion.

that moment
split second
caught within
the beat
of the heart
and the
exhale
of the lung
and the
semi
half
demi
quarter
turn
of the gnarled nail

in that
infinitesimal breath
of denial and deep surrender

the world creaks

and the window shatters
into a rainbow of glittering shards
and you sing
and dance
in the guilty pleasurable rain
your skin rattles
with the hydra's teeth
scaled dry fingers
gripping your own leg

and yet you dance
and stare so longingly

mon amour,
je ne sais pas le francais,
mais je vais etudier ca pour tu.

I began with a boy,
his traits were his sparkling eyes,
any who would behold would be bewitched,

mesmerised.

Once there, it was not enough,
I knew the fallacy of his face,
had traced his dimples,
but appearances can only stretch so far.

I told the boy, my hand upon his cheek,
"my child, it is time to feel and think"
of course the boy knew neither,
he was but a doll of my making,
a sculpture,
an empty hanging object to twist to precision.

I whispered to him, when the sky rose empty,
I held him just as the night held me,
I cocooned his ear in hot marbelling breath
I spoke of dreams,
fargone galaxies,
wonders of the world.

I told him to search, to find, to discover.

The boy never moved from his pristine shelf,
each day,
as doors rang open,
and bells clanged closed,
his eyes never flickered,
from their emerald prose.

Courage spiked my veins,
the boy transformed once again,
he metamorphed, bones twisting obscenely in the night,
I heard his silent screams,
his eyes begged for mercy,

boy became a bat,
he became a smashed supplication of glass,
he was shards on my mantle,
he was memories and ghouls awakened.

I held him as the sun ached in my eyes,
I cried into his chest but his heart gave no pleasure,
nor mercy,
he stared so empty and open,

I tried to clasp the word sorry.

We did not speak for weeks,
boy became guilt,
he left his title of creation,
he had arisen as my master,
limbs sharpened to tools of movement,
his eyes would catch me
the green deafened my sight,

the world muted.
Enchanted.

Dust settled on my frosted bones,
I was whittled thin,
hollowed out,
I held no more soul,
only yearning for boy to smile.

But his eyes did close.

one day meaning will surrender,
just like him,
and my empty shelf.

je suis venue au bout de ma rue,
et ce n'etait pas ce que je voudrais
n'etait pas ce que je voudrais etre

In every poem
I have ever written
there is a character
somewhere
hidden beneath the folds of text
and enjambment

The sleuth
is its name
gained by
the unmistakable nebulous nature
of its very flesh

I have never
in all my shallow time alive
been witness the sleuth in
a natural habitat

for the sole reason
that the sleuth
this hidden unfathomable
being
has no nature
or preoccupation

It is alien
of the highest calibre
and will exist
long after
my poems
stop
unfolding
their
wings.

salad swirls
I peer into your depths
lettuce leaves
splayed seductive
unpeeled forest green liver skins
green thumbs
red palmed
'tis only a Sunday brunch

the metal strainer fizzles
as it comes in contact
with the flighty liquid of
adventurous spirits

muzzy and discontent
not so insincere
not so friendly
to make amends
just yet

She is traveller,
is sailors boot tied
until the leather
pinches her skin
tight.

She is moon gazer
star stealer
eyes bright with
adventure as her
limbs turn like
windmills
against the
setting sea.

She is tilted axis
is turned to the
stars that are
turned down
to watch over
as she swims
on an
ocean that
always remembers and
never forgives
that curdles her
insides
cuts at her
soft flesh
like razor blades or

human
nails

that curl in her
insides
she has no
hand hold
to dock herself
no boat to
lay her
weary feet
only
cursed waves that
reach up
up
up
u
p
into her
chest
that squeeze
at her
heart
and lay

dormant

in her
stomach.

She is hunter
darkened eyes that
reach down
into the undergrowth
with feathered gracefulness

gratefulness

that is reflected
in her
many scales.

She is

what she

is.

Nothing more

Nothing.

dear intractable self,
do forgive me
for all the times
i spent your love
without chasing
consent

dear faultless self,
do forgive me
for all the pillars
i built
sightless
and infinite

dear moving self,
i forgive you
for when
you ran away
and left me
with my
dearest emotions

I'm seeing nooses in the shadows on my walls,
Shadow puppets dancing a mournful song,
Flashing visions of a knife over my veins,
Of my eyes closed as I accept the unacceptable.

Terror seeps into my skin as I realise my thoughts,
Pools down in my gut like acid,
Burning rings of fire through my stomach,
And I know I will think it again.

An itch on my neck keeps me awake at night,
Hissing in my ear of the pressure and release,
Tugging at my skin of how flimsy it is,
Of how temporary the pain would be.

A dark figure lies next to me,
Hot hissing breaths against my closed lids,
Whispering sweet nothings of taunted half held hearted promises,
Cooing as if I were a babe easily swayed into their arms.

So easy
It wont even hurt
Relief
An ending
An answer
No more pressure
You could be free
So easy

And I lie there,
Stiff as I pretend to sleep,
And the monster in my bed curls arms around me,
A lying mimicry of comfort.

My eyes clamp shut,
Nose flared in fear and exhaustion,
Arms wrapped around my torso to protect me from the enemy inside,
Blankets pooled in chains.

I will get through the night,
Ignore the whispers,
Sleep, I pray,
And repeat the ritual tomorrow.

i cry on the inside
it burns and it burns
i wished for the world to change
but mercy has no holding

the pain blooms like a newly wed
- a subtle rose which ripples in my cupped palms
I breathe in the red
lungs expanding
with summer sibilance
as if your rose tongue still curled in mine
- our mouths holding hands

Her name is Red.
Red from the cuts that drip lower and lower until her sleeves get longer and longer to the point where they sweep the ground.
Red from the imaginary glint in her eye, one that is anger, one that is love, one that tries to burn back the black paint of hatred that threatens to consume her.
Red from that time she remembers following, thinking, 'for once I will be brave', that day her cheeks are bruised red from embarrassment, she is not a friend but a stalker they say.
Red from the thought in her mind, buzzing over and over until her ears can only hear it and only it. How can it be repeating so often when it sounds so insincere and incomplete?
She names herself Red, pushing away the other things she calls herself, trying to drown her failures in solitude and a new brand.
Red is a strong girl, with too much heart and too little sense.
Red has a clean heart, clean eyes, clean shirt and clean arms.
Red has no problems, other than that she cares too much.
Red locks it away, boxes them up, cups her ears and ignores the screams from the chained toy box in the corner of the room.
Red is a child, she clings to innocence with the grip of a wrench and the tenacity of a monkey.
Red does not count the people who whisper sweet sorrows behind her ears, but the people who pull her into half-in half-out embraces.
Red picks and chooses her thoughts, thinking of only positives, and screens all nightmares and attacks and faults.
Red is faultless, infallable, invincible and incomplete, there has never been a day that she was not happy, and there has never been a when she dreamt of her insecurities.
Red calls herself Red for she cannot call herself 'I', she is as impersonal as she is broken.
I am not Red, for Red is not real, even if I don't wish to accept that.
Let me be Red for a day and you will see hours cut and sobbed down the drain.
If it were Red she would be a half-happy half-girl with half-days and half-smiles... Half of Red's days she never even sees for one so limitless and all powerful cannot be maimed by a real person's problems.
Red shows no weakness, no sound, for Red is the colour of self-deceptions, lies and unlit badly sculpted illusions.
Red is blind, deaf and dumb if she cannot understand what is occuring around her.
'Ignorance is bliss' she never heard the phrase, for Red is uncultured, unlearned and speaks no language.
Red is an unforfilled idolised symbol.
Red is me, and I am not her.

rocked world
closed eyes
battle beat
broken sigh
mountainous drop
lady luck

Lips do not close themselves,
there is always a maker behind the shelves,
a tall and looming frightful me,
oh if only I could blink and let it be.

Do not let your eyes reflect,
the subtle sadness of intellect,
is all a lie, a gentle hack,
when you open your eyes you can't look back.

Mournful doves on willow's peak,
their braided wails and whittled beak,
do heed their call, a cry so shrill,
for in ending remains only nature's will.

Addiction,
Oh how she longed for addiction,
that she could understand,
Like a gentle tap on the door,
A little ring in her head,
A buzzing in the back of her throat,
Reminding her it was time to sink lower,
Down into the pits of her own damnation.

Addiction,
She would prosper compared to this,
She would fly,
Wings out like telescopes cataloguing the night skies,
Pain was only a replacement,
A repression of her bottled sins,
A soul deep binding that kept her Outer Her from going nuclear.

Addiction,
If only she could let herself go back,
Take steps back down the staircase and away from heaven,
Climb down into the well and huddle in the bone deep chill of that water,
Iced veins, burning under her skin,
That peculiar smile on her face..

The distraction,
Like triple rainbows from a school bus seat,
All the children turn their heads in wonder,
Eyes wide in innocence and joy,
Sweeping away from their little lives to witness that majesty,
And her,
Lying,
Crying,
Dying,
Drowning,
In that bed of hers,
Sheets seeping into her skin and biting cramps at her limbs,
And her fingernails,
Sharp enough to hurt and pull her mind away from dark alleys and harsh truths.

It was not a world of infinity,
Not a world she could escape by regular means,
And it pained her everyday to be reminded,
It ached in the pit of that tomb of snakes, writhing around in her stomach,
Smelt of ash and soon-to-be-lit matchsticks,
Phosphate, red, burning, like the sun,
And her, with skin, as soft and white as the curtains going up in flames,
Eyes wide and begging for something else to look at,
A summer snowstorm out the window perhaps,
Anything but the digging thorns of truth that tightened around her throat like a noose.

Anything but those thoughts,
Of how sharp her fingernails are,
And how locked her door is,
And how small she is compared to the majesty of the world,
Glorious and frightening.

Anything but how easy it could be.

we bask in the poignancy of rising stress,
it is the eye of the storm,
a swirling magenta of rage kept pressed in,
the box rattles but we feed off the energy,
there is power in the first wisp of tension on the cusps of our cheeks,
a veritable sea breeze of seduction;
to yearn for success, the fear transcending to the drive.

Dreams,
The wisps that flows like tears through his fingers,
Consuming and devouring gentle ideas,
Bouncing like rubber against his skull,
Twirling in friendly banter around his curled and protective arms,
Nibbling against his inner heart until it beats in tune,
Invisible yet so corporeal to the graced and fragrant mind.

Dreams,
Follow them into the sunset he said,
Chase them down until they are upturned dog bellies for you to scratch,
Whisper them into your lover's hair he praised,
Scream them from the outside of your skin until you are tattooed in high hopes,
Race in the meadow of your possibilities, grazing hands through gentle grass stains,
Skip along the crux of your horizons he taunted,
See your dreams and follow them through.

Dreams,
Like cold butter, so easy to cut, so hard to spread,
Bright and dull and pulsing with newborn growth,
Born from abstract praise and ideation,
Birthed for the exact purpose of leading on, forwards once more, towards the hopeful past,
He had ran from himself for as long as he could,
His legs ached with the heavy weight of his guilt and confusion, eyes darkened by knowledge,
He had chased his dreams down into an alley,
Brick by brick trapped them in a cellar so they could never escape,
Ignored the harsh conscience who nagged and begged at his closed ears to stop.

Dreams,
Fountain of change,
Bringer of hope,
Pusher of people,
There was still time, he thought, as he blocked his dreams away,
He could let them out and set chase another day.

morbidly
i let my teeth fall out
and my hair frizz
and my life disintegrate
because
we all need a muse
and if you're not tortured
you're not creative

myself is an abstract concept,
for everyone action is a reaction and in prospect pause about the surroundings,
myself is for madmen
and scholars.

I marvel at the glassy sheen of auburn eyes,
burning like firestorms of fresh winter hair,
and to entwine with mine is but a gift from,
you.

I believe it to be
an impasse we have become
the segway between
two paths that
end up in the
same place

feel the sand
the crunch
the curl and
hauling arms
that cling tightly
to your chilled
skin

withdraw yourself
from the segway
of your own creation

there are
other ways
to walk

do not
remove
your shoes

keep walking

whisper, whisper
is that the wind in my hair
is that your fingers tracing my scalp
are you holding me now
whisper, whisper
are you sweet
sweet as nothings
sweet sugar achy teeth
do you smell the rot beneath the sweetness
the nectar that dips low on the neck
of your heart

of the vest
you wear
so well

do not remove your shoes
do not let your feet touch dew
do not feel the goosebumps
do not feel it

keep walking

whisper, whisper
nudge, nudge
they know now
their eyes betray them
they gleam like pristine canines
a howling dislocated jaw to
let the water flood in the chest

breathe
deep
breathe

keep walking

keep your eyes straight
as a ruler
as flat as the evening sky
the orange is folded in half
it is shackled on your
hair raised biceps

you bleed orange now

it is beautiful
not scary
you are not scared any longer

keep walking

courage girl
hold your head high
tilt your neck up
it is not submission
it is not fear to show your neck
you are courage girl
you are fiery
you are sparkling
listen to the whisper that
sounds so loud in your ears

keep walking

one day you will get there

A tuckered bucket of preening primroses,
satcheled over the left-hand shoulder,
eyes hooded like awnings over bread tinged luncheons,
its been eons since rendez-vous took your shape and form,
perilous verbosity rots away on my tongue,
my eyes are a hostage on your figure,
the gentle malice is almost imperceptible from here,
or it is but an illusion of my grandeur,
that you and your majesty had ever broken down my door,
moments leave us as prey to the day to day,
the regretful palm out gesture is unrelieved and we part,
like the single stem of a shredded begonia, petals astray and seeped.

Fluctuating sentiment
Settled and stocked
We breathe for security
For the ebb to stifle
For the burning chest to breathe.

She leans back,
head rested
head bumping up
and down
like
waterfalls that
sometimes
loose their
magical
glow and
get
confused.

Her sunglasses rest
restrain her glowing face
like the
headlights that
reflect from her
eyes
hidden from sight
she feels the
creases of the
plastic in
her cheeks
curling
impressions like
footprints on
the sand
into her
jawline

like kisses
she thinks
that hang
too long
on the
cusp of her
morning breath.

She had
searched
all morning
for the make up
that fit her
botched
skin tone
her arms had
been a
canvas of
experimental
design
like that
painting
she sometimes
pretends to
stare at

she is artist
she murmurs
as she
looks at
that vase
which
seems so

flat.

She
wears the
make up
not because
she wants to
be
or
feel
beautiful,
she does not want
the sunbeams
to shine
from under
her fingernails
or her
lips
to light up
like
christmas
baubels,
she coats
it as
penance
for a past
life
for the craggled
hag that
has no voice
in her
sternum
its oldened
fingers
tap on
her
waistline
like
measuring
utensils.

She wears
the make up
to
cover up
her
morning breath

the morning
sunlight
had
cast
a
brutal gleam
upon her
showing
all her
dark spots

she wears
make up
as
penance
for the
devilish thoughts
that bounce
like
raindrops
off her
steel roof

of the whispered
mercies
of the
voiceless
hag that
hangs in
her
noosed
throat

she wears
penance
like its
a beautiful
blush

like drifted
snow has
coated her
skin and
she is
now
destroyed

she covers
up the
crinkled
muesli
bar
hag that
sings
old
folk tales
in her
lips

the rogue
red
that
tastes like

his blood.

effortless
I fall into my
empty trap

bait set
widowed wills
I release the catch
and lock myself
in

She wore her bandaids like badges.

Were they badges of honour or badges of shame?

She fears them pulling up her sleeves, all the way to the shoulders, brushing the neck, for she only scratches there...

So they won't find them.

She wonders time and time again why she does what she does.

'Perhaps I am cursed' she screams out to the world, as if it were a question and not a statement which keeps ringing in her head.

She tries to tell someone, tries to articulate what she means, tries to summon up the courage.

But uncertainty and that throbbing in her shoulder lie in wait, in the form of butterflies in her stomach and a lion purring painfully in her heart.

'Do not roar' she whimpers over and over, 'Please do not say anything' she tells herself, even when she wants to speak.

She must be quiet.

So as not to awaken doubt, so as not to force others to think differently upon her, so as not to let herself be boxed in.

'But what if I want those boxes for protection?' she tries to reason with herself, but stubborness is a disease that reeks of pausing after stubbed toes to see if it is the same feeling.

Is it the same if she hurts herself by accident? Could she have
hurted herself by accident?

'I do not want self harm to write who I am' she cries unnecesarily to the sky, so blue and taunting it twinkles to her, so endless unlike her fraying and drying self.

'Do not harm yourself then' it says, as if it were that easy, as if pain and memories and shame and the need to not think haven't already corrupted her soul.

Why is she shivering?

Why can't she breathe?

'I am possessed' she reassures herself. It is not her fault that she has been taken by a demon she cannot control.

It is not her fault that she is so weak.

She says that she is possessed, not that she feels she is possessed, for she can think of no other reason for her insanity.

'I love you' god calls to her.

She is not sure which god she should pray to, not sure where she
can let her disbelief and absolution lie. How can she know what to believe in when she has surely lost belief in herself.

'Can I give up on science?' she longs to let the non-existence control her life. If only there were rules for her life.

Will they blame her?

In the end she knows they won't. Not the ones who should be listened to anyway.

Yet she continues to torture herself for reasons that are out of her grasp.

Insanity has never been her salvation, but neither has it been her reckoning.

'I am broken' she argues when someone tells her that she should
stop, that her skin is beautiful, that scratching it is only futile.

She realises it is her own conscience.

There is a dark part of her that wishes she would not heal, so she would not have to replace the marks which disappear.

'I am broken' she repeats, wondering if someone is listening to her when she speaks to empty air.

She knows they aren't.