A corpse inside and out,
the glass fogs thick,
concave, ready to crack.
My neck keens and twists, but still –
there you are.

I eat my screams to nothing,
teeth marks embedded in my desire.
Permanence beckons,
tells me I can sleep if I wish, but still –
there you are.

Past skin, past bone – there’s
my heart.
Your ringleader and your acrobat.

Still it doesn’t know.
Still I wish it did.



The ringed nostril
– crimson –
shiver and drop, exhale.

Stained sink,
scarlet stream,
snakes silver pipes.

I’m in the armpit,
the buttcrack of the Earth –
burrowing deeper during winter months.

I echo in every child’s cry.
I shudder in every pervert’s glance.

Run ragged, ragged girl,
in every slap of boots on pavement,
every whiff of dying chrysanthemum.

I am the fists beating me to a pulp,
embracing every blow.


I feel as though there are too many versions of me in too many people’s heads.

I know everyone behaves differently depending on who they’re with, but sometimes I feel as though I’m constantly switching one mask for another. Other times they all get jumbled up and I forget who needs me to be what for them. Does this person need me to be the sarcastic, never-troubled me? And is this person after supportive, lay-all-your-troubles-on-me me? Where does cheerful, never sad me fit in? Anyone care for a bit of poetic, ‘let’s look at the trees’ me? They all have at least some roots in reality, but they’re all grounded in deception too.

I’m usually good at knowing what people need- which version of me they need. Except when it comes to myself. I’ve never been good at working out exactly what it is that I need to fill in any new holes that might’ve appeared. All these different versions of myself bubbling under the surface – one day they’ll spill out and I’ll lose them.

What will I do then?


There’s the gentle lull of home routine, the fulfilled expectations and the predictability. Of course there’s also the knowledge of the world to come once I leave again – like seeing a train headed towards you on the tracks but resigning yourself to the impact.

I’m exceptionally good at deceiving myself – it’s something of a talent – I’ll often fool myself into postponing responsibilities and working myself into a tremendous flap once they can no longer be ignored. Avoided is a better word – I know they’re there, after all. I’ve always been jealous of people who can just get on with things, can accept that there’s no shying away. I have lived my whole life with my back against the wall, watching things pass me by. Opportunities, decisions, adventures. I wish I could unstick my hands from my sides and grab whatever’s closest.