.                        Thin as a rake
                         No food intake
                      Endless heartache
                        I won't partake,
                     More time does slip
                         Life on a drip,
                      Alone in my head
                       Confined to a bed,
                    
                      My time is passing
                    Unwaivering fasting
                       Mother is crying
                       Body atrophying,

         To my family lying,
                                 That all will be ok.

Though this body will not see the sunrise of another day.

.                  Bite tear and shred,
               This impulse in my head.

            For the pleasure i do destroy,
               Oh how my fingers bled.

Pretty little teeth, like knives in a pearly sheath, their vicious imprint lingers in the wounds upon my fingers.

                     Bite tear and shred,
                This impulse must be fed.

           No pain too feel it's in my head,
       No pain to feel nerve endings dead.

                    No way i can conceal,
                   my flesh that i do peel,

my Blood starts to congeal,
        my skin it slowly heals.
                        
                           Fresh for another day,
                                    to take my mind away.

When restless​ fingers lead lips astray, in this oddly calming, destructive foreplay.

and to you
I make myself
           a gift
to be held in palm
unwrapped
s l o w l y,
an
       ever-
evolving
apparition of
            sculpture,
       malleable
yet firm,
with backbone
  
       and as you trace
your fingers
upon the small
      of it,
running them
               over
slopes
         of spine
watching my skin
          slip from
rough ache han
                     gi
                         ng
to
smooth quake
know that
      underneath
crisp wrappings
of papery
         gossamer
beats the ultimate
of ceremonial offerings:
the present of
       my presence,
fiery,
            pulsing
shimmering like
blood on lava
ready for you
to dip your
      heart into
         lips parting
as my breath fills your
     spirit's cavern
slick dip
        of opening
as you draw
    shadows from
my deepest
Cimmerian caves
  ******* them through  
in siphon's pull
to the side of light
        until
around you and
deep inside
you split
me
  oh so gently
and fully
completely
    apart

I have been left
            floating
     my arms out
in mid-action
as if to stop
what might have always
             inevitably come        
                   and I am dangling
above forest and brush
            above wild animals
          who look at me
in wonder
my goddess energy
in temporary shock
      my grief
billowing behind me
like an 18th century gown
in a black cloud of mourning
it threatens to
drown me completely
but my secret weapon
      is to let it ride its course
              to feel it in all intensity
For I know
this will pass
I will be ok
and so I let it go
untethered
like a river's rushing current
like a pocket of turbulence
like a storm that whips up,
engulfing quiet
in sudden froth
my hair flows
      like a manga warrioress,
about to strike
her revenge upon the Earth
rage in arrows that pummel
your confused, bruised heart
where truth hides
within layers
upon layers of
     veiled
night air

I'll send a nice message
straight through the wires
with the bird outside my window.
I'll wrap the paper up
with a nice little bow
and a short piece of twine
for him to carry onward
to speak into your mind.
He'll make it in the morning,
I know he surely will
to be there when you wake up
to tell you how I feel.

It,s  a  lovely  crisp  early  spring  morning.
After  a  sharp  frost.
Clear  blue  sky  has  far
as  the  eye  can  see.
Very  quiet, no  wind  at  all.
The  snow  capped  mountains
stand  proudly  on  the  horizon.
A  few  holiday  makers  arriving.
For  a  brand  new  season.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.