He was kind to me
Got me a special box
Just for me to sleep in

Gave me sweets

I called him Uncle

He cut my mummy up and
Experimented on my baby brother
Growing inside her
But Uncle said she had to die

The other kids were sent away
To the gas chambers
But Uncle liked me
Because I was blonde and pretty
And he was going to teach me
How to be a doctor like him

I'd have my tools and I
Could put other people's brothers
In jars to keep
Like he did with mine

He said I would be the first one
To have twins planted in my belly

Would they sprout like trees
In my stomach?

We had tidy beds there
And it smelled nice

My mummy and daddy are dead
And I loved my uncle
But it smells funny in here
And everyone is coughing

I think I can hear his voice
Calling me
And I want to run
But there are walls surrounding me
And I can't escape

His crazy eyes are following me
Until I collapse on the floor
Dead

They may look to the sky or to their reflections
in windows and water but I am only looking at you.
The way petals fall into the sky when the wind
pulls them apart or how colour seeps
into daisies has never intrigued me. Why would it
when I could look at you, the timeless flower
who takes language and turns it into a colour?
You never die no matter what the weather is,
blooming and blooming.
You make me try to blossom and become beautiful
even if I am wilted and ugly.
You see me as a flower too beautiful to leave
behind when it's you that is the beautiful one.
You're the flower I pick every time I see it
and somehow you never die
because your beauty is too intense to allow
your colours to fade,
so I'll keep you tucked behind my ear
and I'll sing with the swans
because your beauty is reflecting on me.

I stood, unseen, as the lights faltered and
I heard a heavy thud. A wave rushed through
me. My friend, out of reach, disappeared. Vapour.
The ceiling was gone - stars, stars. I couldn't
feel anything, it was all normal. Then,
the ***** came. It burned all down my throat
into my stomach, bitter bile tearing
me apart from the inside out. I couldn't
walk. Local hospital, apparently
I had a 50/50 chance. They filmed
me for evidence and I killed them in
the process. Cancerous. I was shipped to
Moscow, my wife being left in the dark.
Confidential. Contagious. Dangerous.
The ones who died were lucky, we were burning
alive from the inside out. My hair fell
from my body. My skin wept after the
false calm of nothingness. The dead skin fell
off in clouds of black dust, my flesh being
eaten and turning a violet black.
I can never have *** again, in case
I contaminate my wife. No more children.
Chromosonal damage. She was afraid
to touch me when I saw her again in
case she would die too. My skin will weep forever
and they call me one of the lucky ones.

Tick. Tock. Two hundred down.
Pulp.
Swindled minds flock
so easily into their cages,
sealed vents pushing gas into their lungs.
Carpenter's masterpiece.
Hooks hanging from walls,
bloodied chains supporting old bones.
Rot.
Mirror image rooms kept secret, filled
with decay and trapped ghosts. The neon
sign flickering. 'Hotel'.
Pulling the moths in with its fire,
ready to burn them.  

Tick. Tock. Twenty seven around.
Confession.
The drugs were inefficient -
they never slept forever.
I had to help them get there. I was born
with the devil in me
and he sings like a poet in the shadow of evil.
Gruesome.
I feel their blood on my hands and I enjoy it.

Tick. Tock. Nine were found.
Possession.
"Satan corrupted me, controlled me."
"Innocent."
"I am imprisoned within myself, I swear."
"He made me."
The lever is flipped, I fall.
My neck does not snap.
Instead, I struggle, the air being forced
from my body. Darkness comes
after the fond memory of a knife in my hand
and blood on the walls of my ****** castle.

You hide behind a curtain of insecurity,
blushing and allowing your eyes to fall
to the floor when they give you kind words
to follow and acknowledge. Deflection
is a skill so fine tuned and honed
that it's innate, a reflex built
into your body. Yet you never stopped
to think that they never had to say
those lovely things
and they chose to anyway because they truly
believed them. Perhaps it's time
for you to believe them too.

I know you will be alive and in love
like a child for the first time.
You will chase and daydream
and trace their name on fogged over windows
and even though you're older,
you'll be none the wiser
and just as dazed and clueless
as I am now.