I cannot endure
this loveless
existence.

My insides are sick,
Choked up with second-hand tar,
You used to fill someone else with,
I'm all ******* in daisy chains,
And his baby eyes,
Fill me up with constellations,
Burnt up stars don't shine

Counterfeit contortions,
And your twisted edge,
Smooth and cold,
Black, dead confessions,
Promise like they mean it,
Full of choking,
And hands pulling,
Breaking,
Over-board and sick,
On overdoses of white,
And narcotic senses,
Tasting of dust and screams,
Lost and angered,
Thrown in all directions,
Like you could hide,
Your distortions

The only time I feel human
is when my clothes are lying
on your floor.

I wonder how,
I could have trusted in God,
For so long,
Spent so many hours,
No, wasted them,
Praying so fervently,
Idolising thin air,
Believing faith,
Would provide comfort,
But instead, it left me,
Hopeless and broken,
Because miracles are mythical,
Tireless prayer and devotion,
Won't turn back time,
Or heal wounds and ease troubled minds,
So why do I still wear,
This crusifix?

I can feel that damp, course grass beneath my feet.
I'm nauseous again, in that place again.
I can feel their eyes on my veins,
I can feel him, breathing on my neck,
I can hear him laughing.

It's dizzying, sickening,
like blaring white noise
screeching from a broken radio.

It's an itch that crawls down my arms,
a hand around my throat that tells me to stop breathing;
to stop fighting.

I want to give in.
I want to bleed again.
To feel the metal scrape through all my layers
and cut me open.

I want to cut it all away.

I loved you in the timeless hours
of a dark city.
In the morning, who you were
had been replaced;
the people that we were together
no longer there.
All the memories erased, so you
could love somebody new.

But the shadow of you still lingers
incompletely;
wandering through my slideshow memories
like the glimpse of your eyes fleeting
round the carousel.
A flash under the cinema lights,
over before it began.

Now I'm on someone else's mind
but I'm still under you
in mine.

Open your mouth,
The dust flies out,
I have no past,
The memories have worn,
Now nothing more than colours,
Years and days of colours,
Fading by the day

Examine my gentle veins,
Below my subtle skin,
Fair and Ivory,
I yearn for you,
Your passioned touch,
Your soft, sweet whispers,
Music, music for angels,
Dear corrupted Saint,
With your fingers,
Brushing my tear-stained cheek,
Sing, sing my string of thoughts,
Entangle your rough hands,
Entwine them with mine,
And we shall rest our weary heads

Six feet up and standing,
I'm falling apart in his shadow,
Trying not to get my blood,
Mixed up in her bones,
She's screaming,
And the rest of the world wants an ambulance,
Or maybe we should give her what she wants,
So her shoes fly off,
Mine slow me down,
And I have to stop and turn back,
Because he's grounded,
And he needs me when I'm breaking apart,
But we pretend we have time,
(I want to waste it,)
We're selfish,
(I want to help her,)
We're dying too,
So we put ourselves together,
And he feels like glue,
But it's over and he holds my hand,
Til we're back in the chaos,
And it feels like I've been here,
Cause I always am,
And the screams want to morph in my ears,
And be different colours,
Hers are black,
And I have to run again,
(I can't do this again,)
But they need me,
(It's too much,)
He pulls me back,
And I can't see,
So I just follow the circles,

Over and over and BAM!

I played my part,
And I know it,
It looks like I'm praying,
But there's no idol,
And I want to tear it up,
But I hide it instead,
So I don't wonder if he sees them,
Because her eyes look like mine,
And she's taking the words right out of my head,
And I've lost,
(I deserve this,)
But he doesn't let go,
(I'm not enough,)
And he's still holding me,
Even though she's spilled my secrets,
And I can't force them back down her throat,
And I want to unhinge my insides,
Because I promised they were clean,
And I filled them with dirt,
But I'm sorry now.

Tell me where I'm going,
I feel like I could fit into this song,
Like we're all adjacent and descending,
And falling without cognition

I lay my hands over the rot
concealed within my belly
and imagine instead
I am ripe with a husband's love,
feeling for the beating warmth
of a life beginning inside
my desolate womb.
I await constantly
the trial of my womanly worth;
this man may be my judge.

©Isobel G.     15.02.2022

I'm clawing at your
skin; digging trenches
between your ribs.
We are destroying
each other. I am
gasping for air.

It's 1am,
And sleep just can't stop,
The flow of thought,
28 degrees,
And I'm still cold enough,
To need winter sheets,
6 more weeks,
And I won't feel it,
Not at all,
Because I won't think,
2 more months,
And I won't have the words,
To explain this despair,
Or, like in this fevered moment,
There shall be too many,
That bleed from my mind,
Into new verses,
That make words seem useful,
Though they hold no purpose,
Because words, letters,
They do not suffice,
I need slamming doors,
Blood-stained fingers,
Old clocks that tick tock,
Shredded manuscripts tinted with age,
Broken glass,
Just something other than this

I wrap my arms,
Tightly around,
My empty, shaking self,
Struggling to breathe,
Aching,
Inside and out,
So desperate,
For his promise,
And Death's mercy

In such devastating times,
I sleep on shattered glass,
And bleed darkness,
Into the blackened sky,
For hope is lost,
Death has taken,
Everything,
But my steady heartbeat,
And left me to live,
In this emptiness

I have to make myself empty;
starve myself away.
I have to exist less,
I can't stand my existence.
I'm taking up too much space.

I cut myself to fit,
small enough for your shadow.
Make myself scarce before
you can give me the slip.
So there's less of me
to give
and less of me to take.

How small should I make myself
so that I'm not too much.

I choke on tears,
Between the smiles you bring,
While he pushes me closer,
Closer to the edge,
Closer to Death,
You beg me not to give in,
I don't know if I want to anymore,
Distract me some more, please?

You have grown within me,
To take your place and fill my hollowness.
To fill my blood and lungs
With excruciating love.
You have broken my bones and carved my skin
With the bitterness of need;
Coloured my flesh with blooming, helpless desire
To be coveted
To be smothered by your longing;
I give all myself to you.

Don't write to me,
Don't pull me apart,
And bind me in your paper,
Hold me in your ink,
Don't label my subconscious,
I'm not an adjective,
In a sentence,
About a noun,
A pretty little noun that could've been my name,
I'm not your inspiration,
Don't take my eyes,
And make them hazel,
And wide,
And beautiful,
Don't hide me in 'whole's and 'wonder's,
Under all your addict nonsense,
I'm not silver,
I'm not clouds and light,
Don't make me special.

I don't want to talk,
Not now,
For words cannot define me,
They are useless,
Incapable of capturing this emotion,
Like a desperate child,
Unable to hold the startled butterfly,
In his too eager hands,
So don't speak, Love,
For a tender, prolonged embrace,
Gives far more comfort

You don't annoy me at all,
In fact, I'd go crazy,
Without our ongoing conversation,
Shouldn't you know by now,
That I'm only lying,
When I tell you,
I'm fine, don't worry,
Because I just can't stand,
The thought of you,
Wasting time,
Worrying if I'll be okay,
Lying awake night after night,
The way I worried,
About him,
I want you to,
All the same,
Just so I'd know,
If you care,
But the guilt,
Would **** me

Under my lids,
We pull blankets,
Over the plaster sky,
And sleep away time

I wish I could make music with my words
and spin a beautiful arpeggio, piano-piano web:
a breath-taking composition of minor cords
and soft leaps over thick ivory keys
that sing under my fingers.

I wish I could create an embrace
entirely of music. An embrace to hold
and to love and to kiss sweet, sweet joy
right into your ears.

It's a hollow love
but you give me something to hold on to,
and in the moments that you're mine
I'm not so alone.

Maybe I'll just shoot aeroplanes,
And let your cloud eyes wander,
Falling on bomb-dropping drones,
While I sleep underwater

The urge is building,
there are knives in my pocket,
razors behind my desk.

It will ache in the morning,
as my perfume slaps my wrists.

Long-sleeve season now,
nobody will know;
I'll never know.

But he'll turn me over
and see the pain fresh,
on my skin and blistering.

It could pull me away from here.

It could drown me.