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Hold the Ice

If I could make an incision in my heart let my true feelings secrete

Reveal the true blood count I’d weep if we were to part.

If I stole your vision your very own sight – just one eyeball

to entice me to reveal how I love your ambition

your drive

your sexual prowess

I’d leave you sightless

Devour you

Selfish -a crime with a sentence of life

no bail – a sin too priceless

for words

I could impart with an auger in flight

Wing of the mystic

Would you send me letters written in pen ink well spilling out-

all of your feelings like tweed drapery drawn with bejewelled tie backs?

Is it wrong for me to want a piece of you or to borrow one fo your senses

prove I am sentient being ?

love you with my outer demeanour frozen in a stony glare

turned askance over my cold shoulder – drive you to break your sobriety – pour yourself a whisky – hold the ice.

To prove I dress in reptile attire –

Too afraid to entice you

Afraid you’d flee from a shy girl vulnerable to rejection

from the love of my life?

Sucide awareness day-a ; punctuation lives another day


The 11 of May 2020 I attempted my final suicide -or so I thought.
I had read the manuals -, crushed the tablets into a gooey mixture -add small drops of liquid -with a morsel and pestle.

Measured a small dose of alcohal to 3/4’s apple juice chugged the pastedown without any hesitation.


Fear entered my brain -I let it sail past until it grew cloudy
Its size was irrelevant

I had to achieve death.

The choice I longed for -an inpatient stay -12 months at atime starving my body hadn’t worked
A suicidal coward -I couldn’t live with an ego wounded with a false hubris made shirt.

I waited until I was alone – my calculations of jumping off suicide bridge again seemed ill prepared for what I had in store.

Quetiapine -antipsychotic medication was a miscalculation too
The symptoms agitated my unconscious state


Stairs lead me to the front door
This is an account from my husband-yellow flowers in his hand
he found me regurgitating on my vomit on the kitchen floor.

In 2018 I ended up in ICU 9 hours -my mother prayed -I raged from her selfish wants.
She had no understanding of living day to day in a body half sawed from an asylum hijacked from myriad peacocks relentless
until I escaped -there sounds crawled up my spine
Lit upmy human barbaric side -quelled the blaze could not be subdued.

2020 -Inhaling my vomit
husband pushed open the back door with yellow roses to cheer me up
He knew I was running off the cliff – he thought let me cheer my missus up.

Many hours, days I was tortured by Aliens
Abducted. I pleaded for the fire to cease
for water to replenishes my thirst.
World War 2 Masks leering over me
cold showers
Christians say I was in purgatory.

Mother on her knees
The daughter wrote to me in my sleeping castle.
I fought against the tube pipe minutes from a trachae-I begged for freedom -a place filled with light.
Hell what would I know?
Aliens abducted me -I know that cold water
Sticks prodded

Probing up my nose

Mind tricks disregarded my pleas to change
let me leave
I knew no prayer or god would release me
A face painted up as my mother caught my eye –

my daughter couldn’t hold my attention.

Guilt fit to burst out tears .

Gassed for my lack of integrity

I found out how many days my dear mother prayed for me to come out of my coma.

The family started reconciling I was on a life support machine-close to brain damage, paralysed- death would be the prayer for my destiny.

Once again -her rosary beads anointed her
Happy birthday mum, where am I ?-

the aliens bid me farefill after a 5 day probing
An experiment not worthy of their intelligence
It was all for nothing


10 days later I was high on life.

A hug doesn’t help, nor did talking, self-medicating, reaching out to my tribe.
Suicide is not the answer unless you are sure you know why you want to say goodbye.
Do your research & even then you might not die.
Months go by
I’m still here -my body & thoughts to collude with troubles from 3months
Gone by– I thought I had dealt with my trauma by attempting to stage my greater suicide attempt.


Life toys with my perception -some days I laugh – other days I scream at the injustice of the helpful folk who saved my life without my consent
I’m present – I’m still here.
This is my journey. I’m seeking help. I hope to find peace before death shrouds all philosophical thought.

SUICIDE ATTEMPT 25.
I’m still alive
SURPRISE -no mask

Oh, wait the mirror betrayed me when I stopped seeing myself without a glare.

https://www.samaritans.org/support-us/campaign/world-suicide-prevention-day/http://WORLD SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY






https://www.samaritans.org/support-us/campaign/world-suicide-prevention-day/http://WORLD SUICIDE PREVENTION DAY

The fable of Alison.

* A character who appeared in my head with a story to tell*

Paper, rock or scissors?

Choose one and you may win treasures.

Paper!

Congrats you have received a first year  wedding anniversary proposition .

I’m not even married – how is this a gift I can accept ever so gratefully, oh harry?

Will you marry me? I can make it true.

Alison threw a rock -aimed for the right side of Harries’ forehead- blood leaked out leaving his lips blue.

A twisty smile caught the ends of Alison’s mouth.

She needed a pair of scissors to cut out his heart.

Grim, I agree but her character is slightly Magee.

Squiggled by all the paper cut out men she’s collected over the years.

Paper mache collage project- in an attempt to fix her heart.

The glue worked better when she inhaled its fumes.

She would depersonalise from her very self and awake discombobulated- and rather confused.

This is the sad tale of how Alison decided she needed to repair her heart.

She flipped a coin that flipped her mind – all in one turnabout,

she came around -started singing the Hokie Cokie.

Her twisted jive improved when the moon drew in a little closer.

She could almost hear a beating heart – she put her hand to her chest and,

well, she fell apart.

Envious stares at Man Mickey Finn – his heartbeat loudly and glowered within.

He was her first.

The first attempt to re-enter the game of tick tockers.

Little did she know that this manic method would send her over to the bog marsh rockers.

Frozen on ice add a straw and a blueberry, she sipped her amorous bloody cocktail – Mary already had men gouging her blood every day.

Shaken not stirred.

Stern, she was shaking.

What did Mary’s conception have that made men fall head over heel and lap for her attention?

Frowned, knitted eyebrows – she added her rouge splash to the mix.

Men looked straight through her – perhaps she needed a bar of a Twix?

She had a cunning plan- not evolved or well thought out. She turned up her senses whenever men were about.

The throbbing, pulsating came not from the heart.

An alarming discovery – It came from below the waist.

Mary – scarlet virgin? miracle, my arse!.

Poor Alison only wanted to feel desired.

When she went for her next ingredient,

she baulked at its form and tried to appeal to its art.

Phallic and paternal it made her blush from the internal.

How would she get it to stay erect so she could snip it off when it was ready to launch and eject?

She tickled the floating accompanied planets and amusement came out in oohs and aahs.

Just a little longer, Alison thought blustered through scrunched up eyes.

 make sure you aim for the right glass and not the glass eye.

The navy would be proud of her solid sea legs.

She mixed this new concoction. so sure she was,

 she convinced me she was devout.

Up the straw, the gloopy mixture reached her swollen taste buds.

Horrified she spat it out – perhaps she needed to make it a little more tart.

She came across a nursing mother – whipped out her hunting tools.

Crying Babe clattered to the tarmac. Scattered Mother one breast left on the right side.

Shake it up and down the hatch. She waited for the rush of ardours to pour in.

Misery entered without a courteous knock. Sit down you gapless, toothy banshee of distrust.

Tears were rung around her neck -weighing in at a hefty sized albatross.

The grief of being ignored compelled her into complete disorder.

How could she end this frenzied quest without settling into a forlorn heap of a mess?

Then a thought rainbowed across her mind. It lifted the burdened clouds and she put her hand to mouth to suppress a giggle.

If no one would have her then she knew what was best.

Alison abandoned her empathy in the puddle of complicated attempts to gain acceptance.

She proudly took her first step into her role as the Queen of hearts.

If men wouldn’t love her, she would make sure they could love no other.

What a dreadful tale, is there are moral to end this fable – make it an epic!

Jesus wept!

I get bonus points if I end this and say she transformed – yes she did and serve this as a warning on how to never ignore the self- proclaimed piously.