It’s not big this crow of mine.
Head cocked, observing time.
Perfectly sized to sit upon my windowsill,
Reminding me that dread and fear are a bitter pill.
It calls to me
Stopping me.
I can’t hide and I can’t pretend,
It sees me, watches me my friend.
Waiting and lurking till the end.

Pitiful.
I sit with the blade in my hand
And all I’ve managed is a slice to the skin.
There’s no blood no tearing of the flesh.
I’ve returned to cutting
But I’m not taking this seriously.
Where once I would gouge a hole,
Where once I would part my flesh to see the blood run,
I am now a novice.
Just pathetic.

That pain you feel?
Those nails digging into your skin?
That blade you feel?
It’s for you.
It’s to teach you that it’s your fault.
You should know better
You should care less
And you are stupid for not learning by now.

There: skin dull and purple.
Here: I feel the ache, coloured blue.
Each one is wanted,
each one is displayed.
They have been earned.
I am able to take the pain,
I am able to endure the anger,
I have taken what was given.
I remain and the fury has been silenced.

As the sun tore through the clouds
It bled orange into the morning sky
While I stood idly by
Bearing witness to the silent death of the night.

Mud brown eyes and bent nose
***** skin and straggly hair.
Calls unanswered
Ignored and unwanted.
2D, flat, plain and uninteresting.
Nothing to contribute
A collection of roles, services rendered
And monotony personified.
Empty, devoid and boring.

Such bitterness and such fury
Directed at you but really should be reflected
Time is the water to soothe
Reminding me that change is to come.

What if I were to kiss you?
What if I were to lean across and place my lips upon yours?
Would you part you lips and stroke your tongue against mine?
Would you run your fingers through my hair and press me closer to you?

What if I were to kiss you?
What if I were to place my hand upon your thigh and run them a little higher?
Would you press your body to mine so that I could feel you against me?
Would you place your hands upon my hips to move me closer?

What if I were to kiss you?
Would you kiss me back?

I would strip each item away for your gaze.
I would stand to be adored,
I would obey to be controlled,
And I would bend to be touched.
The press of your hands upon my skin.
Marked and claimed and owned.

Were there clouds upon the sea
For they would shelter me;
Were there string tied to my heart
For you to pull them to and fro;
Were there clarity in my mind
So that i May function half the time.
Were there peace in my soul
So I would not lust after you no more.

Hey
I’m feeling pretty low,
Just feel adrift and stuck and don’t know which choice to make.
So I make no choice essentially,
the coward’s choice.
Looking at the thin strip of red-
barely visible, already fading-
I feel proud?? As though I have been resisting for so long, such an age and I finally managed it. I achieved a mark.
Albeit only a sliver, a skin scratch, one without blood
It gives me hope that there can be more
(A return to the past)
And maybe something deeper, one which will drip.

I cannot understand
what to do with
these emotions.
So intense, too much.
I can’t breath I can’t scream I can’t shout.
My voice has been choked from me,
Strangled. Silenced.
The rage- burning, wrapped around me, laughing.
So I breathe the only way I can: bleeding red, blue and purple.
The air escapes
And the fury retreats to watching and waiting.

There you sit
In your leather jacket.
Lips around a bottle of beer
Easy smile and smirking eyes.
I can’t help but walk over
And lay myself bare
Leaning across
Just to touch.
Skin on skin.
Lips brushing your ear
I do not whisper sweet nothings
But whisper scenes of obscenity
Visions of submission.
I feel your breath quicken as I move away
Hoping you will follow.

The weeds grow long and tall
Curling into the crevices.
The grass has died back , yellow and withered.
I turn my back because it breaks my heart to see the flowers trampled.
I haven’t taken care and I haven’t planted.
This land has died and I can’t bare to look.

You knew you would end up here:
Winding ripping at your hair,
Eyes burning with tears
And hands clasping sand.

There: just under the surface,
I can see your truth seeping through,
I can hear the agony shattering your voice,
I can feel the tremor in your body.
Like a torrent of ice, you freeze.
For a second.
For a moment.
You know the truth is laid bare.
Needles and thread used to bind, used to hide.
There: just under the surface- nothing.