Wrapped around my wrist,
A trap, a catch,
The colour (black) defines me,
And with that pigment,
Justified hatred poured out,
Absolute disgust at my disagreement
with their designation of who I must be.

Each blow to my chest flattens the skin,
Beats me closer to submission,
Crushes my every chance at hope,
The cracked screen offers no escape,
Only the pain and punches offer
"Truth."

The vicious hunger in his eyes
Tells me I'm as good as dead,
And worse to him.
I am nothing but a sickness.

Run, flee, from the horrors inside,
The secrets, the words, so desperate to hide,
The fear is held, it never fades,
It's growing and boiling, and churning away,
That face, those teeth, rotting to dust,
The eyes, crawling, swimming with lust,
But pain and torture are too much to stay,
So lose yourself, Dorian, before it's too late.

In between the presents and the
shallow hopes for snow
and remembering the "more than presents"
nature of it all
a sense of relief, that we needed this,
that we can all stop, finally, worrying,
at least for a few days, it becomes natural
to ignore all the difficulties, all the stress,
and just smile, as if nothing is wrong.

Straining to reach the notes,
Stretching to soar above all,
And deliver some message beyond words,
Outside reason and apart from logic,
And behind the sound, I must make it sound
As if I am simply singing,
Into the brass tunnels and letting them
Turn my song to music.

Upon the hills this morn
a soft mist lingers
the haze broken only where
sunlight shines harshly on rooftops
and rivers.

A border of trees between our
clear skies and the gentle smoke
across the valley
here the air takes nothing away
from the beauty around.

Sheep graze, heads down
never pausing to look
unlike the birds, who take in all
they can with tiny beads
of eyes.

The clouds are moving fast today
in utter stillness they run
across my view until they are
gone. Or I lose
patience.

Shaky steps in brand-new heels I've barely owned a day,
A soft dress around my shoulders, clinging tight to my waist,
No noise as I sit, the stool scraping on the floor,
An echo as I move the microphone to pick my voice up more,
"I'm not actually on stage," I say, more to myself all in all,
I rest my foot upon the pedals, let the first note ring through the hall,
And suddenly I'm playing, I'm saying what I think,
And they all hear, draw near as each finger sinks,
The words I wrote mean far more than faking 'Christmas cheer'
They are mine, my hopes, my plan, my next and next new year,
Take a hand: Dance.

In the centre of an infinite darkness,
A speck of grey lit up,
And stretched out in all directions,
In unfathomably intricate arcs,
Etching into the void,
Shapes, patterns, pictures,
Perfectly balanced and fading to white,
Then bursting to yellow,
Flames lighting up the landscape,
Angry, raging, calming,
Settling down into blue-green,
The arcs trickle like ice on a window
leaving trails as they melt,
Until a single drop stains the fabric,
And from it fractals flower,
Creating colour from dust,
Love from air,
And shining in the empty eternity,
Radiating an energy unknown to science:
Life.

"It's just a cry for help."

A stricken vessel sends out its SOS,
Fires its flares, cries out "Mayday!"
As control is lost, the black waves taste their prey,
Reaching around the ship, gripping tight,
Dragging down the chunk of metal no longer fit for use.

Those on-board abandon a lost cause,
Flee into life-rafts, barely staying above the surface,
Leaving the captain alone, with no hope,
No crew, and no reply from beyond the storm-battered windows.

Perhaps someone was listening,
Maybe one rescue crew was close enough,
Or one ship heard the call,
Would they act? Yes.
Because they could be the only ones who can save a life.

When left with no hope, we cry for help,
Even if we don't believe anyone will come,
In whatever way we can,
Because someone might notice,
Someone might care,
Someone might save us.

"Just"* a cry for help?

Begging, urging,
Closer, closer still,
Mornings, days, nights,
Just more time to ****,
Longing, pleading,
Another second filled,
Laughing, crying, both
Emotions knocked and spilled,
Falling, falling,
Waiting, waiting 'till,
Boredom over tiring,
Becomes my bedtime pill.

Hear the same song, and feel it all again,
All the lumps in your throat,
And the tightening string around your heart,
Straining to keep it together,
The coarse twine scratching at your veins,
Binding the arteries that tried to burst.

Remember that line? When your fingers left mine,
So suddenly alone,
The bitter air taking taking your place,
Wrapping around my thumb,
Then dripping through my lungs,
Freezing the final words.

And if only you'd have stayed, what I tried to tell you,
Then you'd know,
All I needed was that promise we made,
To be kept to the end,
But friends before lovers never works out,
For better? No, always worse.

A rainbow of glows,
Scattered between needles,
Painted with soft scents,
Dripping down to the carpet
To join strips of silver
Shed before their time
Their brothers and sisters wrapped round
In pulsing waves around the monolith of cheer,
And between the proud branches,
Paintings lifted from canvas,
To decorate the eyes.

I wonder if they remember, amongst the streams of faces,
The ones that return again.
Do they do their job alone or accompany themselves
With the stories of those they serve
Perhaps they see the bad days and smile a little more
To take the edge off the pain
Do they see it turn around, the new starts and hopes of each
Or maybe they don't notice that another set of eyes, another order has with it, a life.

A buzz in my pocket halfway through physics,
A glance at the screen under the desk,
4 letters and I'm there:
Unlock, swipe, tap, type
And revealing the name I waited for.
Halfway through physics, 2 weeks before Christmas, offer 4 of 5.
My passion, my motivation, my drive -
My future, secure.