Irrespective of my irrational thoughts,
my bulging clot,
nothing can take away
anything away from my slot
it's still there within me,
whatever explored,
and whatever still unexplored,
I am therefore,
telling everyone,
I'll build my own plot
whether on grave or inside cave,
and with that,
I'll save my heart
and I'll become brave with this new start.

A little girl splashing in the rain
Among cesspools and fantasy green
Kicking up the moss, ferns, dogshit
Soiling her unspoiled baby shoes
Mummy can't grab hold of her
Her arms are tiny ***** of light
She thrives on carrot mush and mischief

Fox **** can't throw her off
It's a fresh scent, her button nose
Doesn't yet crinkle; sour is captivating
She doesn't know there are homeless men
She's stamping on the mulch
The fairies nip at her ankles, they'll sew
Her a twiggy crown for her damp curls

Later, a pebble, chiselled, bitter,
Thrown vindictively from a high-rise window
Will try to knock it down
She'll learn about money and hate
And scream at the rain
Like she's trying to lacerate it
Maybe she'll watch it bleed

Someone will break her heart and nobody
Will be there to make it right
Apart from maybe a smelly poet
Eating a takeaway dinner
A few decades away in a stinking room
Probably boozed up

A little girl splashing in the dogshit
Unaware of gypsies, robbers, death
And me just stood there trembling
Thinking lucky,
Lucky her.

Vermin vermin vermin
Vermin vermin vermin
Vermin vermin vermin

Using what's in place to protect
to harm and hurt

Vermin vermin vermin

There's blood on your hands
It will always be there
You can wash it off,
but I'll always see it as clear as day

Vermin

i use to think
i slit my wrists
in hopes
i would forget
the emotional pain
and just focus on
the physical

i use to think
if i starved my body
for days on end
resulting in seizures
from my diabetes
the pain of hunger
would no longer
rumble within my bones

all those years
thinking i did it
as a distraction
but really

it was a way
to no longer be numb
to no longer be hollow
to remind myself that
i am allowed to f e e l

I made important promises i thought i could keep...
            But its getting so hard to try not to bleed...

It is regrettable to not be a fond memory
But aches more when you contributed to tragedy
scoring scars on the soul and bruises on the body
Digging pits and holes deep inside the memory
Yes, time heals all wounds and forgiveness may wash guilt
But to know you can hurt always makes you feel like a *******

To the irresitable pleasures

i want to say
You have made me feel extant, alive even.
occasionally massive
like illuminations
burning heavy full of light
quick to disintegrate
vanish.
damage all.
damage me.
my sanctuary & my perdition
my liberator and my foe
all dreams & nightmares combined in Your utterances
Your misreckoning causes destruction
wherever i go
impossible to live with.
Always & wholly worthy of my demise.

In cords and ribbons;

she does not speak.
People don't know whether to
scoff, or to pity, both maybe.
Yet she continues,
her tongue clicking,
her hands swift and nimble,
as she cuts up her little heart
and neatly wraps each one
into a package with a small,
small love letter.

Simple words, straight forward
and easy to decipher, with
meaning so plain and tangible.
Her tongue clicks, words still
quiet, her fingers folding the envelope
so delicately. Scissors lay on the table,
for cutting bits and pieces of herself
into each small package.

She hopes, with the light of a candle
and a flicker of a match stick,
that people would notice
her silent devotion.
Would not scoff, nor pity.
Hoped they'd smile and laugh,
as they read each part of her;
saw each part of her;
noticed each part of her—

that were all in cords and ribbons.