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I have wasted far too long on you.

You,

Beautiful and serene,

Innocent and healing,

Have taken over my body.

Advised to let your slim white fingers caress my lips and my throat

To allow you to mould me into the dumb ideal

I have taken you in hopefully

But you are a waste.

All I feel is nothing when you penetrate me.

When you infiltrate the barriers and make my blood rush with a foreign substance

Sending warning cries to my brain

Which are subdued and repressed by your sweet, terrible voice.

You manipulate me.

I yearn to feel the warning cries shrieking in my head again,

To know that I am working and I am not filled by an alien body.

Get out.

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Cranial Hallucination

The intricate gold and purple flower dissolves into 

My head 

As it is stretched and compressed by the lotus flowers encircling me

The newborn pink 

Petals flutter in an unfelt wind and press softly 

Slowly releasing their gentle 

Command 

 

I have to draw my entwining limbs 

As they feel their way through the stagnant and yet ever changing pool of 

Cool

Blue 

Water

And into the invisible soil 

 

I’m told to describe it but I can’t even see it 

So I cheat to make her happy 

“My feet feel good, in control, grounded” 

But I’m spinning in another dimension 

Floating 

Grieving that I am not that beautiful flower, 

Reaching into the clouds and feeling no limit 

 

I have to draw my fantastical body 

But they won’t let me 

My hands 

The voices 

The pencils I interchange in steadily diminishing hope 

So I remain in that dimension

And the page remains blank 

Unable 

To translate that undiscovered beauty. 

 

War Paint

Image

 

A voice whispers into her sleep-deprived ear. 

A voice full of malice.

A voice desperate to pinch and pierce and punch at her skin 

Until she kicks and screams and

Hurts 

In ways she thought she never could. 

 

She suffocates her gasping skin in make-up,

Shrouds it in billowing clothes, 

Constantly feeling the excess that should not be. 

 

The voice turns to laughter 

As it reminds her of the mirrored monstrosity,

The bruises begin to show 

And she sees nothing except the blemishes, the inadequacy, the hurt. 

 

But underneath the bruises, 

Lies a weak, shimmering spirit. 

 

It lies in wait, 

Until it is ready to overcome the voice and the bruising it inflicts, 

And until she herself is ready to accept it. 

 

A blocked plughole

A tap drips. 

And the plughole is closed up.

Intentionally or by accident, 

No-one knows. 

 

The drips become more frequent, 

More insistent,

Yearning to find an escape route. 

 

The drips become a trickling flow, 

Which pushes gently against the plug. 

 

But as it realizes there is no way out, 

The flow become faster, 

Angry, 

As it attempts to force its way through the blocked plughole

Down into the pipe which will ensure its freedom. 

 

Water pumping now, 

Filling up the bath, 

Terrified, 

Desperately seeking any way out, 

Flowing and flowing, 

Pushing and shoving, 

Gaining in speed and force

Anxiety and Frustration 

Power and powerlessness. 

 

A hand comes to the plughole. 

 

And hovers there, 

Hesitant. 

 

The water ceases to gush. 

 

An inhalation of breath, 

 

And the hand moves away. 

 

In a howl of desperation 

 

The water returns to its state of panic, 

Filling up the bath

Until suddenly, 

The pressure becomes too much 

 

And the walls shatter. 

 

And finally, 

 

The water is free. 

 

 

 

 

 

A packet of matches

Someone somewhere 

Takes a packet of matches out of their pocket, 

Carefully freeing one spindly match from its cage, 

And strikes it against the side of its floral prison. 

 

A flame sparks. 

A weak, starving flame. 

 

It devours the stilt keeping it alive, 

Desperately seeking to satisfy its insatiable appetite. 

 

Growing and growing, 

Becoming more powerful, 

Until finally, 

It has eaten its beholder

And nothing is left except black, burnt dust. 

 

Time passes, until

 

Someone somewhere lights up another match, 

 

And they too, are burned.

 

My profuse apologies for taking so long to post anything on this page. This last month has been a whirlwind, with university exams, doctors worrying about my mental health, my mum also becoming extremely worried, and the fact that I am currently co-directing two plays, and producing another two. I hate not having the time to write and to dedicate myself to poetry and this blog, and I hate not giving my readers something in return for their follows and the work they produce. So again, I’m sorry. You should hopefully be hearing from me much more frequently in the future. Much love. 

 

Ecstasy

Taking me through a blue-tinged dream 

Sounds become crisper 

Sights become clearer 

Smiles surround me. 

 

What takes me by surprise is that 

I’m smiling too

 

And this time, it isn’t false. 

 

My body moves strangely

Beautifully 

And my neck and jaw hurt the next day 

 

But I don’t care because 

 

I smiled. 

 

And I don’t care that sweat dripped

My feet tripped

Clothes unzipped 

 

Because 

 

I smiled. 

 

And the blue-tinged dream always ends 

Sounds dull 

Colours fade 

 

But

It always contains a smile too 

 

For one brief moment 

 

When my dream becomes blue.