my skeleton never liked me
very much. it cracks in unusual
places, ribcage poking out of its
skin prison, the frailty of it
breaking beneath the musical
whispers of the wind through hollow
spaces.  i see

light bursting beneath the flash
of a camera and my skin
incinerates - do not look do not touch
do not look - and the charcoal in
my lungs is set on fire. i wake up
with ash beneath my tongue
far too often. my skin

despises me now that i have
bruises in places no one could
kiss better. there's this scar above
my right knee, which dislocates when
my life falls out of its socket, and it
reopens and blood pours from the
renewed wound too often. i think

i have a body that likes to believe it is dying.

It's one of these feelings where I know if I could just hear your voice
a sweeter honey, smoothing out my rough edges
that I could settle these raging tides in my heart
long enough to sit still and just be.

And if I could just feel your touch for a moment
a softer satin, soothing my tattered spirit
I could actually spread wide my arms and
welcome another in.

Yet as I feel him sink his teeth in to the
vein leading directly from my heart to
my feet, I am stepping out  from this
routine and reaching to the unknown.

because this fear dislocates the numb's hold

and although the thorns draw blood to the surface
it's almost comforting to know I can still bleed

because without your sweet whispers,
reminding me that there is beauty in the
breakdown, I am scared I will never resurface
as a refined portrait of the woman I started

and instead I will be proof that loving and
losing has it's sweeter revenge.

A mind can burn
So white hot
That it bleaches the senses
And dislocates the soul
Did you know that?

And sleep can be terrifying
Because of haunting dreams
Dreams of huge steel wheels
With vicious toothed cogs
All waiting to catch and crush
As the dreamer slips and falls

Reality etches with acid
Ignoring hopes and plans
And the innocent shall scream
As the guilty creep away
Food turns to maggots
And drink turns to ****
And this is the intensity
Of madness

                             By Phil Roberts

A mind can burn
So white hot
That it bleaches the senses
And dislocates the soul
Did you know that?

And sleep can be terrifying
Because of haunting dreams
Dreams of huge steel wheels
With vicious toothed cogs
All waiting to catch and crush
As the dreamer slips and falls

Reality etches with acid
Ignoring hopes and plans
And the innocent shall scream
As the guilty creep away
Food turns to maggots
And drink turns to ****
And this is the intensity
Of madness

                             By Phil Roberts

A mind can burn
So white hot
That it bleaches the senses
And dislocates the soul
Did you know that?

And sleep can be terrifying
Because of haunting dreams
Dreams of huge steel wheels
With vicious toothed cogs
All waiting to catch and crush
As the dreamer slips and falls

Reality etches with acid
Ignoring hopes and plans
And the innocent shall scream
As the guilty creep away
Food turns to maggots
And drink turns to ****
And this is the intensity
Of madness

                             By Phil Roberts

and soon i'll stop missing you so badly
yesterday i forgot how often your shoulder dislocates
and the other day i finally changed my bed sheets
i'm washing my clothes for the first time since we broke up
i'm doing okay
until i'm not doing okay
it's taking all my willpower not to talk to you
because i miss you so badly
that every day when i get home i expect to find you curled up in my bed
but you're not
and we're not
but I still am.

Remind me to give it a miss,
this is purgatory
which apparently is a choice
I made
whilst under the influence
obviously.

The Central disassociation
dislocates me from communication
and that's no bad thing
but
it can't get no worse.

Wednesday and I'm on the way
and 'appen it's not the Appian
but
it's close enough for me.

Acceptance trickles by with the current
slipping through her fingertips
as ***** shards of rejection
cut deeply into delicate skin

she bleeds imperfection
as intolerance dislocates her
from the placid waters of freedom
void of the voice of reason

a sudden squall
feeds the inner storm
as a flash flood of blame
leaves her drenched in shame

waves of misery subside
but she’s living on borrowed time
there is no hope in tomorrow
as she drowns in the depths of sorrow