Blog Archives

All Magic comes with a price.

ALL MAGIC COMES WITH A PRICE

Not all men can handle a strong woman.

A lot of them tend to make us feel like we are weak,wrong , crazy even with our impulse to rule and to be dominated.

They would happily send us to a place to be Abominated.

Not all men can dominate a strong woman

It takes a real man – with a front and backbone – one that he uses .

One that he knows how to use and simply won’t take her refusals.

A firm hand – pressed against her delicate neck bone – windpipe-disarmed . A Struggle to breathe.

Shock – Fight or flee.

Stay and put up with it – two stubborn souls connect – who is going to win?

She could fight you, she will put up a good bluff .

Poker face. Stoke his fury – Flush her out – until she is red in the face .

Hair fanned out in a perfect pose,astrologically aligned with her sin.

She knows when to stop him. She pushes back his arm.

Will he get the message or will he continue with the power trip and go one and on ?

The moment of truth is in his bare hands.

Her life, her breath is his – she is at his wildest demands.

He won’t take no for an answer – she won’t refuse his frustration.

She would rather end up black and blue

Thumbed, printed ,read all over- front to back.

than pass on her pain,

despair .

Her 6 red eyed ,three-headed Cerberus demon.

Dizzy disparate desperation.

She won’t see that reflection – not one drop will trickle from her eye; the mirror that she sees is, in fact, her depiction.

She is his keeper – She owes him his salvation.

Till death do us part.

Charon take your ferry – set back sail on the river Styx . She casts the ferryman back to eternal damnation.

Lust , love , it’s all a part of the combined heady scent and the sweat .

gender – Sexual Agenda – together, forever in each others debt.

A pounding heart. She suddenly gasps.

Does she fight for one last caress?

Love is complicated. So is she.

He is her man.

Her king and she will let him be.

Euphoria – her hands tremble – she is shaking.

Pins and needles – no voodoo.

True Magic is two people madly in love.

two hearts – hers stopped beating so he took out his own – ripped it from his chest – tore it in half and gave her one part.

Fluttering. Fleeting

She doesn’t need a rib.

She needs a beat – a rhythm.

A Civil rights movement protest.

Chaos.

Drive.

bloody driven from her comfort- safety zone.

This time, when she makes a noise it won’t be a solemn, repressed moan.

Consumed.

Jolted into believing.

No sadness.

Unresolved.

Ruffled,

Stained sheets. She is done with teasing.

She is the Queen of his heart.

Same time tomorrow – so they can resume their riske business meeting.

LUCIDA

The need in me is to create. What?
Anything – it is all up for debate.
I’ve been away far too long from my usual stream of conscious ramblings.
Doing important, official work in the real world. I don’t mind but my urge to write ding dongs in my head like Big Ben , pinching at my nerves like little crablings.
Walk sideways, it’s fun .I don’t mind. To not feel able to put thought to paper is a pain that lunges at me with pincers.
Threatens to cut, alter my composite chemistry that aids my synapses to hop from one tufty cloud to the next .
I’ve fallen off this heady tuft of higher ground. Landed in a dank, damp, dark marshy bog – I look around me and I see my only flight back home is sinking in the mud.
Oh, see how much I have wept.
Humpty dumpty had a far easier break. I’m burning up – I’m spilling out my innards from every orifice. I’m burning up a fever, tactile sensations- uncomfortably scrambled.
If I could just sit up and inhale a breath. I’m tired.
Tired.
I am sick of heading for the routine spine bash.
Dreary Dystopic drones in uniform hedge all around me.
I know I am ambushed.
Spare this loaf. Save some for later . Don’t be Greedy.
We all need some form of energy to buzz us into a land of fantasy.
This existence is not all it’s cracked up to be.
Necessary to be a part of, I agree .
I need to chill-out. Don’t you see?
I have to have an outlet – that allows me to just, Let me be me!
I promise I won’t hide from my civic duty. You don’t need to contain me in a fryer with other slices of chips off the old block.
I am patriotic.
I understand my need to be part of the solution.
Eyes rise up to the skies- Pink tufts, hues colour me in , a chance for wizardry to occur. I promise I won’t become unwell again .
I won’t lose myself entirely that I become an invalid to humanities true cause. Resolve for my Absolution!
Before you take that roller pin to my head. I’m already malleable – ready to rise . See how blanched I am – covered in fine ,white, earthly grounded flour.
See, look! Pat me down.
Check my left pocket.
A quill.
Check my right pocket.
ink .
Together I can re write this story – or create a captivating ending for everyone – I can whisk you away from a life so dour and sour.
Temporarily of course. Just for a fleeting moment – I can change your wooden hearts and make them beat again.
Feel, breathe.
You can be Lucida.
Fetch me that parchment – just by that oak tree. Three combined ingredients are all that we need.
No dark spells. My intentions are pure.
My need is to make you see an alternative style of Living – a tiny bit clearer.
Imagination does get rusty when we don’t use it.
We can use some of that oil from the this-worldly fryer to lubricate , intoxicate.
Envision any place you want to go that feeds into your happiness
How do you want me to start?
Once upon a time, we abandoned our traditional milieu to head to a place, where we all could flex our buns in a manner of straight out wackiness.
I have my cure!

Sad but true

SAD BUT TRUE

Just let go – what have you got to lose?
eyes veer from every inch of the walls surrounding her, desperately imploring, pleading for an answer.
Gain, gain – You have everything to gain.
Let yourself be loved, adored; laugh.
Gain some weight. Give Life a heartbeat that doesn’t stutter out cacophonously.

Passing by incongruent signs.
Lose what exactly?
Sentiment?
That last chance to see that person or experience that moment again.

Move on. Time escapes no one.
Yes, move on but isn’t that like quitting?
You are too stubborn. You will be the tower that gets struck by lightning. catches fire and burns to the ground.

You would have been at your highest yet still trying to glimmer amongst stars you imagine are on top of the true hierarchy.

‘It wasn’t a solid foundation, to begin with,’ she says. This time, I get to start again,’ she says.
We all deserve a second chance -even a third – not all of us are so pleasantly aligned with the heavens to be given such a gift – another chance to explore.

Malignant.
Maleficiated.
Morose.
Fantasies played out over and over in her mind.
Could that be the allure?
She is aware her thinking is not based in reality but in a place where everything works out just fine.
Let go, that part of your mind. That dream. Free up space for new ideas, true goals to achieve and be who you are meant to be.
Sometimes, that is why she chooses to escape. She can’t handle feeling the tug. Sitting, looking at lines on the palms of her hands Feeling trapped.
To make contact -one last time. her heart sighs….
Sounds like a recording from the denial addiction hotline.

One last time will never be enough.
It isn’t physical. It’s emotional. It’s deep – it’s raw. It’s irrational. Bordering on obsessiveness.
If she could frolic with ignorance – it would make this sentence- seem less like walking the green mile.
Fighting emotions with reason – battery, assault, bruised, cutting remarks.
Too much time has passed. She has experienced the same mistakes all too often.

She can’t run to her nearest anchor be it – drugs, alcohol, eating, not eating,
Her will has been made. She signed on the dotted line. Willingly.
She has chosen Life .

To feel is a double-edged sword. No matter how many times you practise and try to form it into a skill ,a talent even.
The blunt edge is the one that gets sharper.

Equality is a simple equation.
Look at Algebra!
when you know the rules it all becomes a little simpler to understand.
Life is not one and one makes two.
It is all an illusion. We are everywhere, everyone, every feeling, every planet, every language, every song.
Stop counting.
When any species is under attack it will either choose immortality or fight and evolve- transcend – would you believe she learnt that from a sci-fi film?
Life is short. bittersweet. Is that why she won’t let go?

She wants to make sure that whatever happens to someone she has ever had the privilege of meeting to make amends and not feel grief.
Selfish, yes – at least she will be at peace.

Conscious heart

I just wanna be free from this heartache.
I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me, yeah you bewitched me alright.

I know I can go acting all crazy – I have nothing but my insight.
Bliss bliss – just wanna feel this bliss.
I got scared I felt like I got bypassed – missed -dissed.
I covered my true emotions from you cos I was afraid you were gonna reject me .
See, I didn’t know…..
I didn’t know.

I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me – yeah, you bewitched me alright.
Didn’t mean to cause no fright .
Connections were made when I felt your beat – it moved my feet.
You got me dancing – all I wanna do – all I wanna do –
is dance – feel these beats – merge , combine.
sublime – is that truly a crime?

I don’t hardly know you and you bewitched me – you bewitched me,alright.
I just wanna be free of this heartache.
Checked every lotion I got to remedy this potion.

Stuck in reverse.
My heart is not well versed.
All I wanna do is reach out – yeah, reach out.
I keep getting rejected.
Emotions are not my rationale.
I consume triple portions –
I am about to implode.

All I wanna do is reach out – yeah reach out to you.
I just wanna be free,
wanna be free,
free to dance and merge our beats.
Sensations to make me feel, something resembling a full pie chart -a work almost incomplete.
I know I can go acting all crazy. I have nothing but my insight.
This is my soul bared- naked as the day you undressed me.
I came to you.
Yeah, I came to you; bare, vulnerable.
I just wanted you to know – I wanted you to know .
I ……
I….
My heart can’t be reasoned with. I’m breathing.
It is real.
Not cognitive dissonance.
Laid myself naked and bare.
Rejected.
Rejected.
I just wanna be free from this heartache…

Sunny disposition’s shadow.

 

Harried. Hurried. Life pulls me into its vortex.
Tears drip, sealing up presents protected in pink wrapping paper.
She is growing too old, too quickly . Nauseating -left sickly.
Guilt erodes my cavernous mind -echoes dart all around.
So triste. If only I could plug in a pair of earphones so you can hear my heart’s melody- a melancholic cacophony of unequal distributed sound.
Courage,
bravery.
A new day and it’s time to celebrate.
Cake and food and balloons to check off the list.
Snacks, goats cheese quiche. They don’t do a version called hashish.
Khaleef.
Relief.
Slide my cell phone out, to check how many miles I’ve clocked on my fitness app. Gravity does an honourable job of conforming to what I’ve been told it should do when my phone disconnects from my hand.
Shattered glass. I scream:
No, not the screen!
Smoke ablaze, allow me to atone for my karmic debt. Soul let me be clean.
God theory – Spiritual . Analytical – my faith is still reciprocal.
Hope to make a punch in the fruit aisle. Grapes ,peaches, grab a sack of bananas.
The educated children won’t remember the birthday girl if we don’t get 22 packets of individually wrapped Haribo sweets for them to take home.
Sugar rush -sweeten the crush . No huge party – with a whole class invited to practice nurse and doctors with up to date human body scanners.
Time.
Pressure.
Stress.
Masters of writing .Deadlines.
Party time or Mommy will get stuck with the craziest fine.

Sunshine?
Rain – divine. Only when wrapped up in a duvet in my precious bed – liken it to someone’s favourite merlot wine.
Bus. Wind. Howling and scowling. A face – a perfect reflection of the weather.
Dentistry. High priority. Teeth fixed.
Smile and show off your invisible vulnerability.
Pictures dating back to the 1920’s – Man with 1000’s of vintage cameras has a hobby, he can unfreeze time and develop older pictures into negatives. It’s all about integrity.
Pass them down to your future generations – remember those who came before us. The ones we inherited our addictions, maledictions.
Nose catches a whiff- a sense of a DNA code .
Imagination.
Frozen Snapshot!
Talking to myself -creating characters in a place of puffed up, cloudy mindfulness. Not so sure that inherited genes fall under the category of serious afflictions.
Not crazy perhaps a mere case of unharnessed creativity.
What is so wrong with riding on an elated bull of mimicry?
Smokescreen – less hazy. £100 bill to fix my technological , grave -sadistic error in clumsiness.
PC world.
Would you rather pay £1000 for a new mac laptop or £49 ?
Ex-navy man, stop skirting around the gravy line, drop it on me like an anchor. In my world money is your pay packet. All I have is a sense of running out of time.
Rabbits are late. Missed the date , bounced cheque couldn’t secure my delivery bundle, all inclusive with the hottest corporate communication and logistics stork delivery enterprise.
Maybe next year I will miss the pill.
Phones for you.
For me?
For you!
Warranty does not cover intoxicated phones.
Why did you have to get giddy and go bonkers at the mention of a few smartie infused cocktails, for a party happening at 4pm ?
This is festive stuffing prepped for nightmares. 1000’s of drones willing to commit mass suicide – I don’t think bee heaven has parties streamed with foam slides and glow in the dark stick tones.
Deaf – no jam.
Talking in my ear. Three wise men chasing a star .
All I need is one competent man.
Pass me a fan. English turns into piggish.
Yes, the laptop is exactly what I need.
Writer? -one of the things I do.
Student debt. This mute starts to laugh .
Their bombastic moves to persuade me leaves me with the taste of lead. I’m tempted to walk out of here as a woman converted to the Amish.
My specs are more concerned with software.
Microsoft,
SoundCloud.
Insurance?
Don’t make me use my collateral.
Figures ruminating around my mind – 400 – 500.
Add-ons.
More fad songs.
Inside, Hurricane Matthew remnants rattle Mount cranium. Hurtling through the air – a cow passes by me in flight, with a courteous: moo.
This is my despair.
The carefree and serene look is the only bargain I am looking for.
Time is zig zagging up behind me in crocodile form. He has that tick-tocking swag -his tail -swish swashes-ear drums deafened.
Momentary paralysis.
Mentally confused.
Mindstate? Ready to light the cannon ball.
Scream: terrorist.
I am that bemused.
I will give you £60 worth of Morrisons grocery shopping if you stop selling to a seller – trying to service a servicer
Yadda yadda yadda. Green is grasser.
Too much fodder . Where’s the verbal shredder?
Noise pollution.
Recycle your position.
You can choose to not tick: employment occupation – Ass wiper.
Sit down. Take it all in. Funds ready to transfer. Card amped to stick it in and spread that green cum from within.
No protection.
Dirty laundering.
Hand wash only.
I’m thinking my accepted friend V has an addiction .
I satisfied him last night. Friends do that caring thing.

All week I have had him in and out. He doesn’t even remember most of his hits.
I spent most of Wednesday washing out bloody sheets, stained with a not so virginal hole.
Sinful statement – let’s sing a hymn for her cheery soul.
Disease seems not far from our midst.
I need to contain it and stop passing it on and encouraging sharing.
Vee – I don’t want to lose you to a pair of sharp tools.
Poodle-haired lady bitch behind me – tit tittering.
Leave empty-handed. Priorities in order.
Not High street fashionable but then again I have always been drawn to disorder.
Time to leave consumer society.
I’ve already taken a shot to the shoulder with over a hundred pound bill.
Narcotic.
Alcohol arises from its slumber. Coughing,cunning and conniving.
Remember next Thursday. All day Workshops on how to handle stress, delivered to four back to back classes of teens in year 10.
Safety zone. A place I have to call my own.
Rant. communicate.
SURPRISE!
Look at her face – full of delight. Illuminati – unbelievers.

The gods must be crazy

When chaos has erupted ready to engulf all that we are ;
Death will raise a fury to sustain all mortals with life.
The scales must never meet
For then only foe succeeds it’s ally.

  • the God’s must be crazy or a lie.
    #justafewwords before I die.

Cape Vulnerable

Danger lurks in wild-eyed faces.

Thoughts restrained to assuage feelings inverted debases.

Danger thrusts a third eye world view,

of hatred and vomit a careless overlook of blind men seeking to anew.

Danger conquests damsel in distress.

Jeans make it pleasurable for when she denies its requests.

Danger,

danger,

danger, –  it haunts her.

She sees what she wants to see; how it taunts her.

Hush little darling, remember naive, white rose petals,

Dreams hijacked by villains in full uniform metals.

Skettled and nettled – itching to find a place to seek comfort.

A goose down feather pillow makes a dream fit for the unfit.

Danger.

Danger.

Danger, it hawks in on her.

Hush, little darling – feed thine hunger, mother goose is baking in the oven.

Commit to a mind of normal functions. Emotional battery, maternal coven.

Reach not for this soul. It is claimed and is bold.

Wretched and lectured- ears buzzing with sensory ejaculation.

Sleeping partners do just what the contract state. Don’t let this assume an identity of edification.

Soothe, muse, love every bone,

ever tenderized bruise.

Damsel will never see you fall from your pedestal – you can never lose.

Choose, use -in moderation – her body will allow you to take so know thine limits

Infants on feet -rapping at the  doors -ready to impose a new order in the house of the fidgets.

Trumpet life

TRUMPET LIFE

Under pressure.

Breaking apart — splinting at a crucial fissure.

Until,

It  causes an eruptive displeasure.

Disquieted mind  brushes strokes of  bad blood around these elemental  chambers.

Cordoned off.

This is my plea.

So, don’t arouse my anger.

Beaten hearts with a wooden spoon.

These wings will fly-

I’m a fledgling, not a buffoon.

Weep for the Teether’s – the naive doomed  creatures.

They grow into  adults

Dolly the sheep baa’ed down pilgrims resting on mothering Sunday.

Bloody miscarriages — that awoke the town from their  walking slumber.

Think 6 nonsense thoughts a day to keep you sane!

Perforate these gums.

We’re merely animals lacking in  humanity,

Evolved to maim the world for self depravity.

Governed by  social media surveyors  cohearsing   joined up conversation into cursive bubbles.

Uttering bullocks — unravel the mind to overcome the low ebb of the  tide.

Disquieted mind tumbles over.

Terribly tainted, it is prompted to conjure a pantomime.

San Francisco knights

Dangle buckle boots or  bare feet over the  bay.

The full  moon is reflective.

Learned that life will conquer them too  if it has its own way.

Make it a Wishing well.

Make it the  Stage!

Exist or live….

Hell is on earth  — uprise to increasing fees,

We’re bludgeoned to death

if we don’t  pay.

Over and over.

More and more.

Gluttonous gloaters   feed our souls community  with   skunk;

not from Bombay.

We walk around the streets in mobile  psychosis.

We are a society fabricated from bedlam , deserted   in these woods.

Wondering about other lands,

Running away from daggers armed by cloaks concealed behind hoods.

We dance around  the pink elephant cuffed behind its  cage — waiting for the  trumpet,

To spray all 7 dynasties  with glory seeds.

A trunk  with roots in disarray,

This is Life that I seek to portray.

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Francisco Knights by People Under The Stairs’

*Inspired by writers block, panic attacks, mental illness, injustice, isolation, fear and the song ‘San Fransico Knights by People Under The Stairs’

The classic Mrs Thought bubble

This is a surreal piece I wrote about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzeihmers. It’s a stream of consciousness borderline script.
MRS BRUISED : “I’m tired”
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)
tired too.”“I’m
MRS BRUISED: (Sitting upright like a majestic, beaten up old queen)
“I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: “Aye? Go to sleep then”
The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter.
MISS CARDIGAN: excuse me Dear, can you tell me where the toilets I’ve only just popped by
THE WEED: ( Looks around for sign of a staffed house)
Of course just follow me….
(The weed walks back from the toilets and goes to crouch down to hold Mrs Thought Bubble’s hand).
THE WEED: She has pissed herself. Can someone change her?
THE ROSE: No- she hasn’t.
GINGER: Here you go. Open your mouth?
(Shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food)
Lost in thought……
(The smell of piss can’t be worse than death’s kiss…)
GINGER: Here- wah la! open your mouth.
Listen to thoughts of an animated Mrs Thought Bubble.

THE WEED: Tu es Pleine?
Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a century;
MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE: ( creeks out slowly)
Pleine
THE ROSE: ( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of red diluted kids juice)
You are thirsty today.
So so thirsty.
Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.

THE WEED: She has pissed herself, look!
THE ROSE: Oh you have made a pee pee Mamie- a pee pee!
BABIES ARE SO CUTE. LISTEN TO HOW REGRESSION SOUNDS

Nodding.
A skeleton- face grinning .
Bright light beams from Mrs Thought Bubbles eyes.
An Image.
A carved pumpkin with a toothy grin.
Burning away in a dark room: within.
More strained laughter churning out lactic acid.
MRS BRUISED : (on a loop)
Oh ,I am tired.
BRUNETTE: Fiddler! Stop putting your hands down your pants.
Maybe that is the only way she gets to feel something.
Legs splayed- FIDDLER’S fingers exploring her vagina hungrily.
MRS BRUISED: I’m tired
CARD SHUFFLER: Yeah me too! Shut up.
Eyes veer to the table on the left.

Dying flowers in a glass vase.
If I had to throw it would reality become what I once knew it to be?
Jeer me on, why don’t you?
Throw the fucking vase.
Throw it!
How long have those silver wrapped chocolates been standing there? This is not some fancy New York hotel.
If they are going to start leaving chocolates make sure you get Hershey’s kisses.
Brown as the shit underneath Mrs Thought bubble’s nails.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself!
GINGER: I will go get dessert.
Does it come in different sex positions?
Sweet Silence.
One of the toughest spells to break.
No one dares look at the other.
Carers go a drift.
Congregate to conflate into gossip office politics.
THE ROSE: Go and tell them to change her.
The weed creeps along the floor until it has found the right door.
THE WEED: Can someone change Mrs Thought bubble! She is in her own piss.”
MRS HEGEMONY: Where’s nondescript and the other one too?
Great big sighs. A room full of eyes wondering if the pay they get is worth the time.
Time finally has a stroke and then another and another.
The hoist in all its bluesy hues comes for Mrs Thought-bubble .

GINGER: I’m sorry I got called into the office.
THE WEED: Look it’s not you. It’s just.. I am sitting watching Mrs Thought bubble over here, shout out…. and “she is wading in her own piss!
THE ROSE: Let’s go outside
THE ROSE: ( turns to BRUNETTE)
Can we take her outside?
BRUNETTE: ( a voice rolls out like a plush red carpet)
Of course.
( BRUNETTE rolls out the wheelchair – )
She hasn’t been outside in over a year.
She shouts and protests.
Vintage sunglasses are placed on her to help process her eyes.
Flowers.
Bees.
Sunshine.
Colours.
More shouts and protests.
MAINTENANCE: Do you want me to take a picture?
(THE WEED and THE ROSE in unison) Oh yes please.
CLICK !
CLICK!
Mature cheddar smiles captured against the vines.
THE WEED: I love you Mrs Thought-bubble.
Muffled sounds.
Feral.

I’ll settle for that as an good enough au revoir.
Four doors.
Four Windows.
Four wheels.
Taxi take us very fucking far away from here ,please.
THE WEED: Did you notice that nobody came to clean the chair?
THE ROSE: DON’T TELL ME THAT?
EVERY NIGHT I CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP!
IF WE MOVE HER AGAIN(pause) SHE WILL DIE.
PLEASE LET HER DIE
WHY?
WHY?
IT IS BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING.
Petals start to turn inwards – it’s a crying shame to see a rose start to wilt.
RED CAP: There was a sticker attached saying ‘TO CLEAN’
THE WEED: Oh.
I’m sorry.
I love you , Rose.
I can’t imagine what you are going through.
THE ROSE: (Wilts that tiny bit more)
She doesn’t even know who I am anymore.
THE WEED: I know who you are.
You know who I am.
It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining- water will always ignore the air around it. If it wants to pour, it shall.
Tears pour.
Tears break.
The weed reaches and creeps until it has a secure grip around The Roses stem.
Hands entwined.
The Weed .
The Rose.
Both look out their own private window.
Bee would have loved to see that cow…..
THE ROSE: ( watered and ready to pose)
So tomorrow is a busy day. We have to sort out the cake
THE WEED: The cake?
THE ROSE: Daisy, the wedding cake? And We need to find Mr. Thought bubble an outfit for the wedding.
THE WEED: (grapples for breath)
Is she actually allowed to come?
THE ROSE: Madam Hegemony, says it is fine.
THE WEED: (flat)
Oh,Cool. I wonder did we tell the cake makers that we have changed the theme from sun flowers to yellow roses?
THE ROSE: (exasperated)
YES! We are just having yellow icing on normal flowers..
THE WEED: Oh… like the colour on our invitations?
Stationary.
THE ROSE: See you tomorrow.
THE WEED: (as an afterthought)
Mint,yes, tomorrow.
THE ROSE: 10:30, Don’t be late. We are getting threaded first.
Have you got The Bees shoes?
THE WEED: Yes Mam.
THE ROSE: I swear if you had loads of money in this town you still wouldn’t be able to spend it.
It’s all bullshit
From the horse’s mouth – let him narrate for this bit.
And so the earth continues to travel around the sun.
The sun goes down.
The moon is full faced and all fluttering eyelashes.
And I still have a long face.
Nothing but everything changes.
Nay,
Neigh!
Horses don’t talk.
Neither do flowers
Horse manure.
Bullshit.
Jut another day in ‘I wonder what the fuck next land?
Just an average day in an average Care home.

At the peak of clarity

And ,

at  the peak of her insanity

A moment to glance away from this  reflection gunning down with its eyes of La Mort

if she could see past the discombulated figures

Deflect

An outline

of

fear and self-loathing will

dissolve

A moment of clarity

my child in her stark purity dancing in front of the mirror.

Find her standing motionless

pick up the comb, attend to her dutifully

This reflection

This motion is fuelled by a fierce love.

A fierce love distorted by fragments

by her own mother’s dysmorphia

The same mother who flees from her Self every day.

If this is not a demonstration of love

then it is a moment of clarity

A reality  of her creation

Sweet bitter

A tipple

Tears or bourbon

No longer certain

Does it matter?

Then it is a moment of clarity.