Safe House

I count the drawing pins on the wall

They make more sense than the words that come out

But not

You are nothing

You are nothing

Little shit

Here I am quietly eliminating veins (again)

Bragging dragging dead skin into being

But not

Can’t stop there’s a funeral at eleven

Can’t take my coat off to rest the flowers

Even though it is icy

Always cold inside

Hands won’t move

Arms won’t bend

And of course it won’t fucking work

You can’t make nothing work

No more energy

Than to lie

On the floor

Cold

Listen

To him

Cooking

Up the

Meth

Hide the pills like pennies

Under the floor board

Fair exchange

And all

This is where I am

This is what I am

No more energy

Than to lie on the floor

Cold

Listen

To him

3 am

wide awake

fucking

fucking

everyone looks out the window

when it rains upstairs

pours upstairs

I build my prison in the free world

Politely

No more energy

Than to lie on the floor

Cold

Listen

Listen

People lose their pretty in this place

Except her

She looks at my hands

Gives me change

Pennies not powder

It’s all back to front

Who is kind

And not

Please hold my hand

Take away the pins

Wrap me

Keep me

Keep me

Listen

I have no more energy

But to lie on the floor

Cold

Unsafe

Unsafe.

Butterflies and Bullets

The white man

With the gun to his head

Has been erased

I can’t remember

If his brains were full of

Butterflies or bullets

The children play

Both I think

All heads are full of

Butterflies and bullets

The bell rings

And we shuffle outside

I wish it would stop

I think of what I want to save

Slowly dress

Collect nothing

Really

I

Could

Just

Walk

There is nothing here

There is everything here

And I want not a

Single

Thing

Then suddenly

I am at tea

Around the high table

The lady pours a cup

Says

I

Will

Look

After

You

And I smile

Somehow she is less than Alice

And the Hatter

The tea goes cold

My finger sticks in the handle

And I cry

No one can look

At me

Let alone

Look after

Me

The coat of the dead man hangs in the hall

Not erased but empty

Of time

Of bullets

Time passes

As it always does

I stand

My head full of charged bones

The bell

From one hand drops

The butterflies

From the other drops

The bullets.

Trash

It says thank you on the trash bag

I am sick

Of

This

Dismal

Luscious

Waffle

I am not even half way through my dream yet

And I am

Sick

Of it

You can only fix you

But I am in the trash

Not thanking anyone

We sell foam

And it would be nice

To buy a cushion

I would wrap it round my head

And sleep

Maybe get to the end of that dream

But

I am sick

Of it

The strawberry dream field

The love hearts in the mud

The mirror that shows

What is

And not

Alice old and tired

Dry fingers

Twirling ribbons and liquorice

It was never enough

It will never be enough

Some falls

Leave you

Fallen

And I am

Sick

Of this

We find some dust and

Fly above the helium line

Where it is too high to be high

We curl ourselves as small as comfits

Under the red blanket

Until the dream ends

Little

Miss

Demeanour

Smiling

But not

The trash bag says

Thank you

And I think

I am

Sick

Of it

This

Dismal

Luscious

Waffle.

Paradise

Read this leaflet

Carefully

Because it contains

Important information

For

You

And there I was

Looking

In the church

In the building

With the corridors of questions

A fun house

But not

And here it is

What I need

20 for 90 pence

Only one box allowed

I open it like Christmas

I guess the information I need is in just one box

Except it’s not

And it makes me sweat

That I can’t buy two boxes

Because this game is like

Chance

What do I want

What do I want

More powder

But less

More face

But less

A fine line of dissection

To see what’s underneath

Little

Miss

Adventure

You can’t catch everything

When the house falls

You use a hotel pen to sign

The warrant for

My

My

My

We all know the word

The

Leaflet

Information

All you need to know

Sleep

Restful

That is what I need

That is what I have

This is the sound as paradise falls.

thanks for your stay

it may cause drowsiness

but it will certainly help you sleep

where is alice

This is the sound as paradise falls.

Remember

The thing about death

He told me

Is that you have to remain focused

He told me this many times

Until my eyes glazed

And he is stuck

And it is stuck

In there

The bit in my head that burns

More than the

Well

You know

Nothing is focused

Not now

I lose twelve hours

Turn the dial forward

Lost time has no more meaning than any time

The stars were nice

Pretty colours

Pink Yellow Blue

Not quite enough for a rainbow

They wore down

As everything wears down

In pairs

I am your monster

I am your dolly

Both become sick

Bingo

Two looks

Once

Once again

I notice

Of course I do

I remember words that are twenty years old

It is true

I tell myself

That the story no longer has words

It’s as vacant as the gum ball machine

In this shit hole

The one last possession

I no longer own

I talk to him

When I am on the floor

Feeling for bruises

You know

Why did you tell me that?

Since you did

I have being dying to find you

And you -

You probably don’t remember me at all.

Cloud

I wash up the raspberries

In custard dust

The cloud is so low

You can’t see over the hill

I polish the silver

Then put it away

I am not worth

Sparkles and glows

The only silver

Is inside

Rusting

Slowly

Sometimes

She posted back the pictures

We do not

Hang

On

Her

Walls

My

Head

Falls

On

The

Paper

Next to

The ruined house

The

Falling

House

Inside

Where

You are not

Saturday

Cutting

Paper

Line by line

The scraps fall in my shoes

I pick the floor clean

Like I pick my skin clean

The cloud stays

The light falls

I eat the raspberries

And write

Love me

In the custard dust.

- it got to Sunday..then Sunday evening..maybe this will fit a prompt..someday..one day..but when a scribble comes it comes...  

Next

Cold

That is what

It says

Of what will happen

Next

The clock is a little

Slow

A pace behind

Line of black stitches on white

A story

Like words

But

Not  

Colder

My being

In order

Quietly mine

But

Not

nag nag nag

Pain at the back of my head

Like words

But

Not

Colder

I wish for this to stop

Quietly

For

Me

To stop

But it

I

Will not

An idle desire

To breathe

To be

But

Not

Cold

That is what it says

Of what will happen next

And yet I can’t feel it

stitches or words or head

There is nothing left

To shock

To make me feel

How cold is

What will happen next.