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Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
Lost in silent songs,

calling before closed doors.

The prickle of tears before they spill,

uncared for and unknown,

onto the floor.

Never believe the words they speak.

They made me learn to never believe them.

They taught me to fear the words they mouth;

in gentle whispers pressed against lips,

argued or yelled or reminded or prodded,

a strategy in a list of seductive tricks.

I’m never your love, but your conditional toy.

Restricted to a timeframe;

before you get too old for me,

before you get over having me around,

before you cease to care I still have feelings.

The teddy bear that loves unconditionally,

but gets abandoned to dusty boxes deep in the past.

I step forward, you step back.

Try and understand my frustration.

Why must you always seek to lie?

Why must you always be the joker,

and play me like your beloved fool?

You know it’s easy to stop a feeling;

to drown it and stifle it’s cry.

But I only know how deep their roots go;

and how suddenly painful their death can be.

You look, but then you turn away.

You ask, but then you cease to ask.

You beg and persuade, but then you lose patience and stay silent.

You chase, but then you find an easier target to shoot.

You give, but then you realise it’s yours and take it back.

You care, but then you transform it into pity.

You like, but then you doubt it’s real and cool the fire.

You love, but then you know you never could.

I know your words are temporary.

I know they linger in the air between us, and I’m

not supposed to take them.

I’m not supposed to shelve them and trust

they mean what they are.

Likely, they aren’t, nor ever will be.

I know they fill a void, but again, they don’t close wounds.

They heal like stitches, before they only infect you more.

I know you like me.

I know you want me.

I know you say all the things I need you to say,

but I also know you simply shape them to soothe me.

They don’t have substance, or form;

they hover and poke in delicate places.

Lodge themselves like glass shards I don’t notice.

I will always be the physical desire,

the gorgeous thing you like to hold as your own;

but once I learn to love you,

you make it clear I’m only there for the moment.

I’m only there to please and tempt for now.

I’m there to entertain you, when no one else can.

Trying to find you, when you don’t want to be found.

Trying to hide what I feel, because I know you won’t agree.

Trying to mend something, that broke long before we touched it.

Trying to revive fire, when you left it to burn down long before.

All the doors you open, before you lock them shut.

All the lights you switch on, before you cut the wires and leave

me in the dark.

All the places we explore, before you run and leave me stranded.

All the pictures you help me paint, before you burn the canvases.

How am I supposed to trust you again?

How am I supposed to know anything?

How am I to open, when being closed means I at least

don’t have to pick up all your little lies?

Yes I will be your lover for the night.

Yes I can please you and touch all the right places.

Yes I can make you hunger, and realise your starving.

Yes I only expected it to be short-lived, destined to end when

you pack your belongings, and have your final squeeze

before you go.

Yes I know you need to cheer up, and being your private

**** will help.

But in the end, I know where your trail of bread crumbs leads.

It doesn’t lead to a home, nor a heaven, nor a shelter or safety;

but to a bitter, endless path of failures.

Of points I never met, and things I never did for you.

Never believe the words they speak.

Because you can never quite tell when to start to.

Because they are so good at breeding little lies.

And they are so good at conditioning you to believe

all the little nightmares you tell yourself are real.

So goodnight, and try to dream other dreams.

Because a dream with them, is unattainable.
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
Do you know what it’s like,

to be the hunted?

The pursued;

the object, the target,

the one stalked like wounded prey

as the lights turn off.

You never called off your

hunting parade.

You took advantage of your skill.

You moved on me;

a soundless shadow creeping

along the walls,

clutching fear and regret in your hands

as weapons to




Brutal, savage beast you are;

only I can see those jagged teeth,

razor spikes contouring your spine,

as you grab me from behind.

The darkness colours you,

brings out more than daylight ever could.

It suits you, you and the coal and soot

you shed

in my bed.

Warm, sticky blood you open like a tap.

You rip and tear and

reap your rewards

after such a masterful ****.

You left me wounded, dripping blood

like a grimy trail behind me.

Leaving me more vulnerable to

fresh attack

than ever before.

But there was something worse still;

more terrifying than any shot from your gun.

You left more than a scar, more than

a raw wound.

You left something behind that can’t be healed.

It becomes part of my being,

inserting itself into my body,

protruding it’s toxic spikes into

any future I have;

any future that might involve a lover,

any chance at companionship.

You battered me to a ****** pulp;

a ragged mess no one could ever

risk touching,

without the blood covering themselves too.

It would seep into the sheets between us lovers;

it would attack me quietly, viciously;

It would bring out the worst in me,

and every time I would be forced to save him.

Save him from myself.

Look at what you did to me,

foul, disgusting ghost you now are.

You’re the nightmare I hide.

You’re the burn on my skin I keep in the dark.

You’re the voice I try and drown in rapid

loves, fleeting desires.

You’re my brand. You’re the one who

decides my fate from now on.

You pillaged without consent.

You never even knew what you delivered

or what



The hunted.

That is what I am now.

The weak creature, struggling to


And I can never tell lovers what this

sad, lonely,

aching story means.

What I can offer gets buried in fear.

I can never voice the pain that

rips in waves,

icy and sickly

in my bloodstream.

I can’t voice the remorse,

or the loneliness I shall always greet,

before they flee,

the sound of receding footsteps they beat.
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
Dreaming with my eyes open.

I can see the mist, a swirling blanket overhead.

I feel like a taut string, coiled wire, sips of breath

between parched lips.

Patches. Puzzle pieces swimming in my vision,

an unruly tangle of images,

slowly being filled, linked from the borders in.

The ceiling hanging above becomes a screen;

roll the film, let’s see what has become of us.

I can’t hold on to you,

The dream canopy above me is like water,

one disturbance sends you rippling away.

I feel immersed in your presence when it clearly

isn’t there.

The mist, smokey tendrils reaching for my skin;

begins to thicken into fog.

So many images of you.

You montage in a cascade of colours and

you show me too much.

A torrent of raw emotion;

I watch smiles burst and tears fall;

I watch laughter radiate and anxiety creep under your skin,

I watch fatigue ride on your shoulders and anger bubble, pop, like lava.

Why are you so far away?

You glide around above, bumping across the corners of the room;

You are saying something to me. But you are mute.

Your full lips part to caress mine, but I don’t feel it.

I don’t feel anything.

And you release me and



You look broken;

something snapped inside after that kiss.

But I can’t ask.

You are already gone.

The mist is receding, back into the cracks in the ceiling.

I can’t make you stay.

You twist and unfurl into slight wisps of air;


I would open my eyes,

call it a bad dream,

but they are already open and empty now.
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
It has been so long since I’ve seen you.

Who are you now?

What are your dreams?

Are we still lying together

on the grass,

hands brushing fingers,

tracing patterns in the sky,

discussing longings and fractals?

We revel in each other’s words;

the sweetness of ice cream we shared still wet on our tongues;

we walk with each other, noticing the changes on our faces, bodies,

grown up but

still nurturing, protecting

our hearts

for one another.

We don’t even know it.

You’ve been my companion for so long,

amid the drifting faces of people loved and lost

scattered to corners of my soul;

I’m so happy you’ve come back.

We don’t even know it.

But your eyes shine over dinner;

playful little secrets tossed over the table,

like a game we’ve mastered long before.

your arms link through mine,

hands finally meeting

to clasp and warm through the night.

A forgotten crush, trembling it’s so frail;

I never knew I could expect this from you.

You have loved another before,

given your world to another,

but my heart

has been resting

from neglect,

from fear and shattered promises.

buried desires unattainable.

dreams and wants so terrible because they are denied.

You devour me slowly, tentatively;

all the while I gaze above and only wish I hadn’t

recovered from your




By day I am one woman,

by night another.

Two entities, sharing the one body, cowering around

one flame in the cold.

Another pair of eyes searches mine.

He is gentle,

he is quiet, polite, but

don’t be fooled.

He is on the prowl for something much more

than I could ever be.

I resemble the mould he desires for the moment,

the shape of a woman he wants to own.

I’m the impression left burnt under his eyelids at night,

the figure he pines to see and

reward himself to.

He makes me powerful.

He makes me bold.

I’m shown luxury, hands held out to

a future of promise.

He loves me dearly.

And I love him.

The gorgeous flirtations,

hands drifting down my waist.

The rapturous evenings,

lost in heat, lips grazing every part of me.

We crawl into each others arms so quickly;

kiss and beg, kneel and pant;

push and pull of the tide and shore;

but always destined to drift from each other over time.

For the minute, you hold me close.

A brief shock of electricity; my back curves at the slightest

connection of your skin on mine.

Why did you stop wanting me?

Why was I never enough?

The longer I paraded for you;

the longer you desired me to crouch,

a beauteous form at your feet;

the more bruised I became.

I came back burnt at your touch.

I returned with fear tingling in my nerves,

threatening to crack my bones and stop my heart.

I could never talk to you I realised.

The more I spoke, the further the blinds

rolled down;

The closer I drew, your flames only grew higher;

the more ferocious you burned,

the more untouchable you became.

You left me on a cold street, yelling in my face;

the forked tongue of a serpent sliding along my skin.

I lost you.

I could see the volume of blood I’d dripped at your feet;

I could see the amount of soul I’d given over to you, shed on

the ground,

flaking and drying to dust.

I’d given so much to have you hurl disgust in my face.

You ripped it all out,

gutted and bleeding,

you tore it all out with those claws of yours. You helped yourself, once I

finally denied you.

I made the wrong choice,

latched on to the wrong person,

craved the wrong touch.

Don’t think I have forgotten you, sweet man of ice cream, sugar;

pops of colour;

soft skin and warm smiles;

achingly sweet and temptingly beautiful.

Showing me your nature long before the vulture came to

pick and scavenge the love I didn’t know I carried.

I still only wish I had stopped myself from crumbling before you.

I only wish I had known you to be my perfection.

I only wish I had been able to fill myself more,

cared about my self more,

offered you the true best of me,






a man who stole my beauty and

made me hollow inside.

Where have you gone?

I’m so sorry I ruined us.

I’m sorry that you wanted me so badly once,

but now you want no part of me.

I’m so sorry I didn’t trust myself in your care.

I’m so full of shame.

I only hope I walk into you one day, long from now.

Hands drifting to meet fingers…

but I know I’m only dreaming.

And it’s time for me

to wake

Poetic T May 2016
I'd bled once for you.

Now you are ashamed
of these tracks that took
me to your heart.

*"I am derailed in thought,
Life Jun 2014
You will not look at me.

Not even look at the brave face I practiced
Not look at the smile I painted
Not at the dry eyes I skillfully mastered

This mask I made for you to see
But still, you will not look at me
As if my fakeness, will mutilate the image you have of me

*I can tell you, it will.

— The End —