Pretty little mess

She’s got that pretty plastic house

To match her pretty plastic chest

And a man who spends my years wages

On a pretty tight black dress

So he can rip it off her

And tie her to his desk

And with blunt tools he moulds her

To make her look her best

And she’s happy sitting pretty

In her pretty broken dress

Blissful in her misery

Pretty little mess

And everything’s pretty perfect

Until you ask her why

She’s pouring pills in vodka

Asking God to die

Silly pretty girl

You’ve made a silly little mess

You spilt some of your cocktail

On your pretty little dress

And now your pretty husband

He’s thirsty don’t you think

So how about you share

Some of your pretty little drink

 

And she was lonely again

It was dark outside and the trees were howling. She spent a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling. Counting sheep they say. No. She was counting limbs. And lungs and strings. Strings around necks. And flecks. Flecks of skin creeping in. In to a wound of a darker red. It bled and it bled. She said, as they screamed, it’s okay. You’ll be dead. Soon. And the moon. The moon created a spotlight. And it was just right. Just right for her to drift off slowly. And she was lonely again.

The Surgeon

He is pulling shoe laces through my skin

With his celestial fingers

To make the thread lift, recoil and tug

My already bruising flesh

And make a patchwork quilt

Of my sore body

He practices needlework and upholstery

And makes a masterpiece of my wounds

His hands play God at his own game

And beat him

And so he rips and grips my shell

Pulls stiff wrinkles from ribs

And dimples from hips

To make a more perfect me

In his own image.

Outside my body

I hold my arm up to the light

From the cheap unscented scented candle

And the pain of that night has almost faded

And the feelings that dripped over the edges like wax

Are nearly all dried up

Your eyes still burn though

Thick smoky black clouds

So, I cover myself

With silk and cotton and cashmere

Putting pretty things over ugly scars

Proof of what you didn’t do but think you did

When broken glass spread like an incoming tide

A forest stitched upon tendon, in white thread

A silhouette of lace snaking below my elbow

When 6am hurt more than anything

And our salty eyes bruised

When the distance grew larger than us

Than our ability to piece it together

So, we lay far apart planning ways to fill the gap

Between my thigh and your arm

And your arm and my brittle blood

And we did it, didn’t we?

So now, looking down to pencil marks

A children’s drawing on my skin

It remains a memory of harder, sharper times

Flames burning brighter now

Outside my body

Juniper

roots

in

october

feed

juniper

who

blends

the

sun

in

green

ink

and

rain

water

in

sharp

needles

and

forms

fleshy

succulent

berries

in

the

third

year

to

pick

and

to

eat

 

2 pints

 

I’m thinking about the spit on my boyfriend’s cheek,

And how he doesn’t lift his arm to wipe it even though he knows it’s there,

And I’m thinking about the pressure of the glass on my lips,

And what would happen if I pressed a little harder,

And I’m thinking about you of course.

I’m thinking about the warmth of my coat, his coat,

And the cold at the end of my toes that I can only feel when I think about it,

And then I’m thinking about you again and I can’t feel my toes anymore.

I’m thinking about how close her arm is to his,

And how it’s hypocritical for me to burn when I see them touch,

Because I’m thinking about you of course.

I’m thinking about the couple across the garden,

And how they haven’t spoken once in ten minutes,

But have found an hour’s worth of kissing in that time,

And now I’m thinking about you of course.

I’m thinking about tomorrow and I’m thinking about tonight,

About whether I should leave early or stay for another pint,

About what my friends would say if I went right now,

‘Come on, stay for one more round’,

I’m thinking about my options and how they aren’t really mine at all,

And I’m thinking about you of course.

My train is delayed

I fell to my feet metaphorically
As I poured my heart into her half empty half full glass
She drank it pensively
Balancing each drop on her manicured lips
And told me she wasn’t good enough, was she?
When I’d tried so hard to persuade her the opposite
And that was why I was leaving
For she never knew
Never tried to understand
How hard it is to watch her split and rip every centimetre of her body
Screaming out
And in
Praying for some different skin
Or limb

And then a stitch broke away from her lip
And her nose cracked, crackled
Eyebrows ruffled and spouted
And every individual lash fell out
A thin clean break from forehead to temples
Lets wrinkles form in the spaces
Cheekbones became cheeks
And jawline became jaw
As every inch of created self
Slipped away from her skin
And fell in a pile at my feet
Every detail so closely planned
Became ever so incomplete

And I told her she was beautiful
And she replied: not beautiful enough.

An introduction to alcoholism

 

You wake, sip, then force

The thick chemical clog to the back of your throat

It sits persistent in dipping skin

And cheek pouches

Like a rodent, you ponder

Spit or swallow

And as she slips

And skips down oesophagus

Forcing her bulging, wrinkled body

Into deeper holes

Deeper hopes

And steeper slopes

She numbs your brain

Body and brain

And numbs the pain

 

She rests momentarily

Before your stomach

And lurches in chunks upwards to heaven

Tonight’s dinner:

Casserole and rice and bile

She makes your cheeks blush

And hairs stand on end

Sweet lumps of plaque

And yellowed paste propelled

But forcing it down in heavy gulps

She continues her journey

To cancer-ridden joints

Where she makes her dwelling

Your blood her bed

 

And in the aftermath

She lingers forcefully

In tongue grooves

Beneath and between teeth

Peppered and salted

Plated and served

Your heart rate is jacked

Lip’s bittersweet, and temperament cracked