At nineteen,
I told you my deepest darkest secret.
I thought I could rely on you to hold my hand through the pain.
Figured the fact we knew each other for so long meant we had a bond.

At nineteen, I told you he ***** me.

At nineteen, you shapeshifted.
You morphed into a volcano.
You became explosive with rage.

You told me it was my fault.
That I had to make it up to you.

At nineteen, I told you more truths.
At nineteen, you refused to believe
Or acknowledge, understand,
Or even think for a second that he tried to **** me.

I guess that was something only you were allowed to do.

But it’s all true.
The years I’ve spent walking through hell.
From both of you.
I know you said to never compare you to him.
But you’re much the same.
That’s why you were so afraid when in a sentence I spoke both your names.

Death is the disintegration of the body,
Life is the death of the mind.
Evaporating from shackles
The jester is here on time.
Mischiefs taken from the book.
You do it so well
That only time will tell.
Another age old being
Left to be forgotten.
You forgot again jester
And the sand timer
Has been smashed.
Take the clocks hand
Jester
It's the only applause you'll get.
Breathe them in jester
They'll never be whole
Within themselves.
Take a chance jester.
You're already dead

Stealing innocence from a thousand children,
we watch them bleed *****,
we know this is the end of the beautiful era,
where the only monsters that existed,
were in our closets,
imagination flowed through every vein,
kids could play on streets without a fear,
and they were all friends,
this is the beginning of something horrible, unimaginable,
this is the age of paedophiles,
eating disorder increases,
gun wars, ***, technology, drugs and knife fights,
too many of today's kids are being ****** into,
these blood splattered, ***** streets,
and we can't fight this movement.

Sometimes I can’t imagine normal adult things happening to me
Like buying a house, a new car
Being a bride in a wedding.
Getting a “big girl career” beyond retail.
Wanting kids.
Because I haven’t had normal things happen to me.
I was robbed of many things,
A childhood,
Development.
Love.
And a lot of the time I forget I’m 26,
Wearing a made up, misplaced childhood,
Still locked into teen age.
It’s not a resurrection of the dead.
It’s a reimagined gift to myself.
I am my own body guard, protector, nurturer.
I am allowed a childhood.
And I am allowed to have adult things happen to me.
I’m 26.

Fighting to get away from sleep,
suffocating,
I woke up.
Not quite together-
my mind wasn't sure what it was doing,
Only half aware of the blade that traced your initials on my wrists.

I stumbled
and roamed the house
staining the carpets with blood
eventually collapsing at the foot
of my parents bed, falling asleep once again.
When my Mother found me
she was scared and confused.

This dream was different to the re-occuring dream
i usually have.
Instead of watching the usual dream
of you taking your own life;
instead of seeing your face,
one i had known and loved my whole life,
morph into an unfamiliar being...
I had murdered you.

She'll never cover up what we did with her dress,
We tried to tease her out of it, she wouldn't budge,
We pushed and she fell in puddles of mud,
Over and over again she fell, scraping paper knees,
Oh no, she'll never cover up what we did with her dress,
White lace was now blood and mud drenched,
That silly girl, she tried to run,
We caught her hand and pinned her against the trees,
Tree bark was added to the blood and mud mix on her lace,
She'll never cover up what we did with her dress,
Frightened and screaming, with our lips we stole her breath,
Moving down her slowly, such a pretty little figure,
We made her bleed, we made her squirm, we watched her bleed,
We tore that ugly ******* dress off her purple, bruising skin,
And ***** her in the woods.
Oh no, she'll never cover up what we did with her dress.

Words that tumble inside my mouth
Stab my tongue like daggers;
I bleed so much pain.
And I really do
I really want to scream these words
From the top of my lungs
But they burst.
This is tragic, this love.
Happier than blue birds that sing
But it hurts too much to even move a limb.
Crippling love, oh woe.
Crippling love, you will save me.
Because as much as it hurts,
You'll still be my rehab, dear,
A love infested detox
Ridding my body of the demons,
The demons that cut me from the inside.
Say it. Say it. Say it.
I can't!
Two words too powerful
They inject a paralysis poison in my veins.
Say it. Say it.
I would love to, but,
I can't breathe again.
I swear,
I swear I'll learn to say it one day,
With my last gasping breath.

Every afternoon after school
I'd get to your house
as fast as my legs would take me
and let myself in through the back door.

Seeing your face as you spun around to see me
was the brightest part of my day.
Even though you had issues with your legs
you'd still get up as fast as possible.

Hugs off your Grandfather
who has always been like a father to you
is the best thing a girl could ever recieve.

You'd lead me into the garage
and I'd take all caution uncovering the machine,
the motorbike. The work in progress.
And the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

You used to get me to hold the bolts while you ******* them in
because I have small hands that could reach where your warm ones wouldnt.
We'd spend hours on the Harley fixing it, building it.
Nanny would watch and laugh at how intrigued I was
because she thought that you'd bore me. You never did.

And when mother came it was hard to tear me away from the bike
I didn't want to leave. I wanted to help you finish.
But, I'd come back tomorrow and roll up mysleeves
just to hold more screws and listen to your technical talk.
I could sit for hours and just listen. You're so wise.
You taught me so much. I love you Grandad.

Like leaves, tears drop and float effortlessly down scarred cheeks.
To the world, they remain anonymous and silent but to me, they are the world.
Becoming glass shards in broken eyes, and elvin daggers in a limp heart.
A body spinning counterclockwise, going no where but sicker as the days flash by.
I am a number, a false statistic that hasn't registered yet.
I am made up and imaginary, just like hands are to time, just like green is to money.
I grow tired of this worlds mentality more and more with each shallow breath.
I remain on the outskirts of everything as I stay unconformed and partially used.
There is an ever present dust seeping into my wounds and it's eating away all I am, all I stand for and my bones.
They have turned to dust, my soul has given way to rust.

Your promises of forever and love
Were not permanent with devotion entwined.
They were empty and fractured.
A freezing reality of my deep seeded submissiveness (a poison).
Believing you was the vicious rumbling of my foundations.
Ferocious rattling amidst the tornado winds tore me to pieces.
A silver lining, though, reveals itself through everything.
Sometimes directly after the fact,
But mine shone through years and months later.

I’m better for it.

Maybe because at the time I wasn’t succeeding at treading flood water.
Maybe my lungs were too full of thick, black water that you polluted and brewed within me.

Either way, the gruelling wait.
The heart breaking, tormenting, torturing wait was so worth it.

I am better for it.

At each second I feel your toxins seep from my veins, my bones, my skin and slowly sink back into the ground.
And the space is replaced with a magnitude of better things.
Freedom… love… myself…

One more sleepless night,
Another timeless darkness,
closing in on me.

Flames consume my eyes,
The burning will never stop,
Please, oh, please, take me.

Let the devils in,
Give them shelter and some tea;
Hospitality.

Now, now, let me sleep,
please, I've been good to you all,
Unchain me, devils!

Love doesn’t rely only on the sentence
Love in my childhood home was said
A lot
And the kids meant it.
She was the only love we had
Or knew or wanted.
Her love was diluted,
Spent across many things.
Herself mostly,
Her wants, ideas, hobbies,
Her luxuries that we could enjoy…
Sometimes.
Maybe selfish or naive
We thought it was her devotion to us.
But we only watched Nickelodeon
To satiate her longing to watch tv rather than work,
Or raise us.
Or love us.

I learnt young that love isn’t just
The sentence.

But mourning a mother daughter relationship
Is a lifelong sentence.

I'd like to be able to write again, but the universe is turning too slow in the wrong direction.
My heart drips instead of duh-dums
And my breath slips.

Rhyming sticks to the top of my mouth catching grains of rhythm as I regurgitate yesterday's thoughts.

I haven't been able to write lately, not because I am a bumbling busy body, but because time is frozen, I'm cemented and dissolving into the tasteless air.
Everything is too colourful lately, too... anything for me to understand.

Maybe I should start reading again, go back to painting stale blue skeleton hands with not enough paint.

Maybe that's my problem... There's not enough paint in my life.

The aching turns to
   Throbbing
And it's breaking my ribs again.

The faux colours after the rain
    Fade
Dimming to black once more.

It's a hamster wheel I'm stuck in
     Rotating
Dragging me up and down,
    Rupturing semi-calloused skin.

Bashing my head against bars
     Locked
In this place, a metaphorical mental jail.

Stuttering words that shatter my teeth
   Nonsense
This sadness isn't real,
   Yet It's here.
And I can feel it. It's drowning me.
I can't breathe. But it isn't real.
So I find solace in it like binding myself to a religion that doesn't leave a bubbling sensation on my tongue.

This word is dark and everything is tasteless.
    I can't remember what sunshine tastes like
On the back of my eyes.

Besides, I've lost all feeling in my brain
And my nose bleeds again
    But I bashed my face against a wall
So maybe it's my numbness dripping on the floor.

Are you still drinking every night?
Who do you scream at now?
Now that I’m not there to bear the brunt of your violent insecurities?
Help is an insufferable waste of air
When the one needing it is in narcissistic denial.
Part of me hopes the crumble of your career
Obliterates your shiny golden god complex.
The rest of me doesn’t give a ****,
Because after the years of manipulating and pain
I’ve torn the shackles, broke free
And you don’t mean a ******* thing anymore.
A forgotten false god.
Enjoy your downfall.
I won’t see it from my rightful throne.

She never said it'd be a clean break
because Her train has derailed again
and this time she made sure
you were crushed in the collision.
This is the end of everything,
She's made sure of that.

9th February.
I suppose it should hold special meaning,
Or coloured dinosaur eggs
But it's merely volcano silt.
Washing out a year and bringing in a brand new blandness I don't need.
It'll be the celebration day of my birth in just a week
Everyone has forgotten,
Too wrapped up in their own brain mazes;
Everyone forgets,
Mauve poison daggers seeping through memories
Forgetting;
Mostly warm summer days,
Mostly the southerly change at night
Mostly February ninth.

Everyone's forgotten me.

We're all watching you walk
walk away from us all.
Where are you going?

Street lamps shatter and your feet kiss the glass shards
but you don't bleed, minipulate your mouth into smug smiles
Miles, miles, miles, miles.
Watch your step theres a bump in the road.
There's no time to smell the daisies,
there's no time to turn your head
Just smile and walk, miles, miles, miles,
Glass eyes don't cry and neither do yours.
Would one be game enough to ask,
where are you going?

The pier, a long walk on a short pier
or a short walk to a long pier?
Stumble on loose nails and skim your worries across the water
that tortured mind is occupied.

I say, my dear, what a lovely day you've chosen
What a lovely day it's chosen for you to walk
The sun is shining, clouds gathering upon the horizon
The grass is green and stale Rome air never smelt so sweet.

Oh god, Rosa! Your foot nearly slipped!
Darling girl, the end of the pier is rotting, watch your step.
Stumbling and your eyes! they're so, so red.
Rosa, can you hear us?
"αυτό είναι δικό μου χοίρων"
You're lucky the priests aren't here demon,
Rosa, demon, you're skitterish and talking nonsense.
Are you ready to jump?

And I am the monster
That lives under your bed.
Just to make sure you lay awake at night
Like I always did, thinking about you.

And I am the curse you get
After walking under ladders.
Just so you'll never love again
Like I had badluck with love after you.

And I am the rumour
Living on your lips.
I'm gonna haunt you
Just like your rumours haunted me.

And I am your curious hands
That touched everyone else
but me. I never loved you.

And I am your tattered clothes;
Covering you
But leaving you cold.
Like I was, so cold, after you.

And I am the demon tattoo
Stained on your chest for eternity;
Leaving my mark on you
Reminding you of me
Forever. But I will not think of you.

And I am the deep purple scars
On your fists, stomach and leg;
The ones recieved in street fights.
I fought to hard
For someone I would not keep.


And I am the gin
That made you lose me
Completely.
I will love again after you.

It's strange the way that freedom is an essential yet silent component of the human body. It lies dormant between the right lung and the edge of the diaphragm, it tickles your side every now and then, starting a chain reaction of a deep breath then a spontaneous motion. Eventually you wind up somewhere completely alien to you and, if you're like me, you take no notice of what's around as you slowly plod home. It's a dull life, but oh, isn't it safe.

You will only feel or see snippets of other lives at a time,
So depending on where you go or what you say
Something will trigger them and you'll feel it too.
I believe there are certain circles of people carried through your lives,
Whether they are family or you find them during that life,
It's the same souls altered slightly.

We have something medieval;
I tip-toe navigate my parents castle
While you bust me out of soul ******* walls,
We were lovers.

Again... another life, later in our years...
I was living in France and you,
A Swedish traveller man, courted me down by a bridge maybe,
Possibly the country and definitely raining.
Unlike like France, where it was free, simple and peaceful,
Medieval times for us were horrific.
Carrying much heartache and a very gruesome end;
Screaming for eachother as we were torn apart.

Prince Charming will come for you one day,
my sweetheart, but you musn't go out looking,
because, my child, because there are wolves,
big, big, bad wolves -
The horrible mean men, choose wisely-
One day, you'll see.

I pray the best for you, my pretty one,
Your golden hair will get you far-
And I promise we'll meet again under the sun
Your smile will fill my heart,
until the day I die, my dear,
without it I will not be complete.

Now, don't cry with these words.
For you should know I love you,
I shouldn't leave but I cannot bare it
I'm torn by these decisions
But I cannot give to you
what you need-
you'll understand this
when you're older too.

Enjoy the life I have given you, pretty one,
when this war is over, I'll find you,
and we'll meet again under the sun.*

*Apparently, I was barely three weeks old
when she left, and daddy was a lost cause they said-
told me he went to war, came back a nut case.
No one knows why Mumma wrote about
leaving me during the war, it was already over.
Maybe cause daddy was mental,
and she was poor,
myabe she couldn't cope.
I don't know.

I'm twelve now,
my adopted parents aren't too great,
sometimes, I think a brick wall is more capable
But I love 'em,
I love 'em more than my real folks, hey.

I like to think that on the hottest summer day's
Mumma will meet me, just like she promised
but without a photograph or nuthin'
I doubt she'd ever find me.
My hair ain't even golden anymore,
My new Ma and Pa
says it starting going dark at age three.

I don't remember much of my childhood,
my real childhood atleast,
the one I was supposed to have with Mumma.
All I have is a fading hand written note.

It turns out, - like hands, like pages turning, -
That I am more petrified of everything
Than you could ever comprehend.
I suppose it's the waves crashing in my lungs,
Or baron wasteland kissing the tip of my nose,
Even more, it could be the death touch
Whispering its mermaid lures to me inside my heart.
Expectedly it could be the curse of gangrene winding it's way around my toes
As a result of standing stagnant in this town for far too many milliseconds.
But the crippling hunch is I have many places to be, a heart to give,
Myself to mend, myself to mend,
Shard by thumb pricking shard
I am rebuilding who I breathe to be
And with a time span the size of a spec of dust
On the geological time scale.

Pretty,
your blood is pretty
and my oh my!
your veins look perfect tonight.
throbbing blue is making my head spin,
your pulse dizzys me.
let me taste,
just a little
and if i lose control...
well you must taste so sweet

With baron wasteland for a mind,
        Nothing much ever happens
And nothing much ever occurs to me
    But a thick loneliness
Built up like a mirage--
     I see words, happiness and stars;
Nothing good... Nothing real
     But dust in my eyes
And a dehydrated heart.

The trees did cast their dim shadows
representing every soldier
early this morning on the side of the road.
For hours we drove
waiting for the sun to greet us
and for the fog to stop seducing the trees.
When we arrived
you pledged your alligiance to our flag
and then whisked away in a bus.
We barely even said goodbye
it all happened to fast.
You became a soldier.
The drive home was... quiet.
The sun had finally greeted us
and the tree's soldier reflections had vanished into the light.
You were gone
and the ghost of every past soldier wasn't there to guide us home.

Is it bad to hate who you are?
Is it bad to fall apart when that number appears on the scale?
Is it bad to want to rip yourself apart?
Is it bad to just want to bail?
Failure is something we all know too well.
Self-destruction shouldn't be such a pretty thing to me.
Happiness is not a pill they sell.
No one can save you from yourself, see?

I scream and I scream with no sound,

clenched jaw, shivering body, i see white.

                  T   R   A   P   P   E   D

Inside the bleach stained walls

of my skull; I long to shatter it.

                 B   R   E   A   T   H   E

Through chemical burnt lungs; they have shrivled.

                 C   H   O   K   E;

Blood tastes better regurgitated.

"Pink-haired parasite."
I think that sums me up quite nicely,
Thank you,
But you must understand, sir,
That I do not wish to be clingy,
Though, I cannot help it,
But I am broken and destroyed,
From my past and beyond it,
Too many people have walked out of my life,
For me to fully understand that everyone leaves,
My head too rotten by hate,
To ever fully accept myself,
And this heart too shattered and young,
To ever know not to fall in love,
Well, atleast not so quickly,
I am this horrible mess,
And I will not blame anyone but me,
So I apologize, sir,
That you couldn't handle this "pink-haired parasite",
Usually known as me.

I've been watching you for days now,
not speaking, hardly interacting
and i can see in your eyes deep thought
like you're always searching now
but what for?

Always standing in the shadows,
like you're waiting for our bond
to just snap and retract you back
to where you were before me.

It's been 1 week and 3 days,
since we fell silent,
and I'll approach you today,
to let you know its time for separate ways.

"We can't continue in silence" I say
choking for the rest of my sentence,

You look at me so puzzled
and so lost in empty eyes,
"Well then... talk?"

"I think," I breathe, "you're not happy here."

"But..."

I look down, your eyes are burning me,
"I've been watching you for days,
You've been searching for ways
to leave me, and... I think I'm okay
with that."

In that moment,
I thought I heard you tremble,
I thought I heard you shudder,
but it was really just you walking away,
It was really just my world collapsing.

So empty, so, so empty.

Colourful toucans, magic disposables
with pretty specks of dust, fallen pixies
and dreams of an escape.
take me back to that place.
I wanna go home, I wanna go home.

I miss that pretty, twisted place-
I miss that other half of me;
it seems to have detached,
leaving open wounds for me
to find zero comfort in.

Where reality exploded before our eyes
and travelling in teleportation devices
seemed so logical and the only method
of reasonable transport.

The world will not be crushed
by my fragile shaking hands
but I dream of the day it does.

Everything is just a dream
that is vanishing as I wake up now.
I don't wanna wake up, I don't wanna wake up.

I wanna stay in this place,
with fragile hands and the creatures
that are so tragically beautiful
with our minds as the creators.

I wanna stay here with these illusions
that have become our world.

I wanna stay here with you.

Go on, take everything, you want to
so do it, take the money from the drawer,
the pearls from the little red box,
the watches - useless with immeasurable time,
cigars from Cuba, take those too,
Picasso rares, Da Vinci secrets,
take them all, go on.

Take the whole world into your palm
with your last inch of weakness,
just squeeze, bare your white knuckles
drain us of the materialistic monsters
and with your weakness bring us back to us,
bring us back to this earth, with nothing but a clean heart.

"I hope you have a lovely new year and that you have many happy New Years to come. I also hope that your years are as good as mine were"

I was going to write a poem today,
About love and loss,
Sin and gin,
But the motion was buried
By the question of how to drown myself
In the puddles outside my window.

I found hell sliding down
The slight curve of your flawless porcelain back,
Embedded discreetly in electric spinal cord buzzing.
And yet... Your eyes moistened with
Glittering pools of heaven.
The reports say I drowned...
But I know your back cracked,
Hell scrambled out...
Breaking my neck
And crushing my ribcage
In a swift enchanting dance.

I.
Potent; iridescent and
Dripping.
Muffled like the white noise
Of a radio warning broadcast,
On repeat...
30 years after nuclear WAR.

II.
So beautiful;
Other worldly and distorted.
I am fascinated;
Drawn to you as if
A moth to a flame.

III.
This is merely a reflection.
Swinging back and forth,
Hypnotic.
I am coming undone
Dragging my chained brain around.

IV.
How dusty, how dark,
How disheartening?
Like concrete shoes,
My brain sinks
In a vast and vicious
NOTHINGNESS.

I had a dream last night,
You were there but without a face like usual.
We stood atop a cliff,
I stood too close to the edge like usual.
I recall a deafening silence bouncing off the waves.
You couldn't hear them bash against the rocks.
I turned my back upon the sun,
Setting deep into its routine slumber.
I faced your faceless face and I spoke softly,
Loud enough to break apart the silence;
Like great claps of thunder,
'Tell Mum I fell'.
You didn't flinch when
I stepped backwards;
2 steps too far.

Lately, I've been disassembled,
Rest assured... in shambles.
And my minds been sliding
About the tasteless hardwood floors,
Collecting delicacies unknown to sadnesses.
It's been a while since I've tried to drown,
But I think on the corner of the kitchen
And lounge-room floors,
My mind found something
Worth living for...
How ever subconscious it may remain.

Sink your teeth
deep into my innocence,
on your plump lips
does it taste devine?
Just like this heart of mine?

Drink up the grease
of guilt and lies
I dare you, I dare you!
It'll mix with yours
just fine.

**** my wasted kisses
from the tip of my tongue,
they always lingered there,
Scrape them off with a razor
put them in a jar.

But leave my heart,
leave it dead and black
inside me.

To the vast emptiness you believe in,
memorized cursed faces,
breathe in dying lies.
Which do you prefer?
Protest vulgarities
and we'll shoot you
between blood shot eyes.
We are not real.
Secret?
Yours bides time in your eyes
the stench of ****
rolls off your priest collar.
You're high
taking the bible too literally.
The confession booth
is so much less than truth.
Sunday seems like a good day
to betray your faith
and **** every *****
that's been lured into your cellophane faith.

There is an overwhelming sadness washing over me,

I don't know how to surface,
            Or rid myself of this darkness.

A constant ebb and flow of numbness,
              Rolling, up and down my paralysed body.

I'm so sorry, I have wandered here again.

               Drag me out,
                                      Teach me how to breathe.