When I think of her I think of scars.
She told me when she touches them they remind her of the cuts;
of how the cuts made her feel,
“it’s a purge”, she said, “a sense of being real".
She spoke to me with honesty of the incremental cost
of destroying the things she held so dear
now irretrievably lost.
Of how, through her inner turmoil,
she could meet the gi...
Sunday 30th January 2022 1:41 pm
Give me a broken mirror.
Hide the blemishes and blotches
That impairs and disfigures.
Give me renewed youth.
Re-circuit my memory
Rewrite the truth.
Give me made up days.
Turn action to fiction
Blow my mind away.
Give me turning tides.
Give me caves and crevices
In which I can hide.
Give me light, give me dark
Give me dressings to hide
Wednesday 25th July 2018 1:38 pm