The essence of her
in the early moonlight
swayed like a blow flower
in my hindsight.
When she was there,
my artwork became real.
The air was gentle,
her name was Christine.

She ******* her boat
and left it by the south pier.
I undid the rope -
sunlight filtered out here.
Her hand was my lifeguard,
though when I awoke,
within a distant star
came the morning smoke.

He only wanted to talk once
you were held captive by the dark.
When midnight struck, he had you.
His smoke circle eyes scanned
your red and blue body as if
it was a police interrogation.
You were young and in love.
What could possibly be wrong?

He only wanted to apologise once
morning escaped from it's chains.
When the scars become visible,
it was red roses and dinner dates.
Purple bruises, another excuse,
accident prone yet still in love.
The stars came out to watch
as you took off your clothes again.

When I squeeze out the contents like I'm a citrus reamer
Are the heavy notions of death meant to be?
According to the book I cut my apples into eights
Will someone tell me how long my death will take?

I wait to be transparently flat like the morning sun.
Is it meant to be when I'm still as fat as an out of date plum?
My life was meant to be pulled away a long time ago
But the hoover broke and so never cleansed me of kilos.

Is it meant to be that I will forever breathe the air of my house?
The sickening fumes often feel like family when starvation has clout.
It's common knowledge that a girl leads you, tells you how.
The only thing I have is a pen and a useless body now.

What it would be like to live in the sea -
Endless nothingness.

My spine tingled as i thought
of echoes from far away,
never close enough to harm me.

I’m the richest in rock bottom,
penny gold, the orange attraction.

I’m not afraid to be a silver dame,
alone with my scales flaking away.
Isn’t the ocean my sanctuary?

Lines are drawn across pitted skin,
She pulls her claws in, tying ribbon.
Mouth sewn tight so I can't speak,
I slide my wrists upon the sink.
My feelings are transparent;
This pain endured is like heaven.
She tells me that I deserve it,
And so I make another slit.

Life is being ****** out of me.
I can feel it as my lungs become
too heavy for me to hold and
my heart gets slower and slower.
My mouth turns to a dry cave,
A desolate place which my stomach hates.
No warmth can coax my fingers
To curl around any little mug.
They’ve lost all hope of ever
being so cosy again as I keep
Walking down this endless street.
Though my steps are getting
Slower and slower and slower.
Every largening crack in my spine
Tingle when I lay on a hard surface.
I wonder why I do this to myself.
Then I remember and force a
smile so ****** convincing that I
unknowingly manipulate myself.
I breathe in as to stop the dizzy spell,
the light goes dimmed, i stumble.
"Are you okay?" They seem to ask.
I will be okay. I’m always okay.
But the seconds it takes to get back
on my feet are getting slower
and slower and slower.

For seventeen birthdays,
fake tears in the bedroom.
Soaked pillows covered by
Scented candles in the living room.
Emotional piano over sounds
little girls shouldn’t have to hear.

For seventeen birthdays,
secret crying showers.
Leftover cake, feeling sorry.
bathroom blood, guilty of a crime.
writing slam poems about mum,
right under her nose.

For seventeen birthdays,
Sweet money. Lies to keep quiet.
Cracks in gulps of *****,
wall punches, hospital trips.
Homeless over a holding hand.
Hopeless. Looking for a mother.