Silence of Silica

Rain is falling upon my sunburnt skin
Making me weep for want of piety
Lusting for the cold droplets
To bleed the redness from my skin

The sun releasing its powers over me
As it did over the water, sucking it up
To allow the clouds to dump this
Crescendo of blame.

Nature is does not gloat but grows weary
of my own glorified self indulgence.
Did I take thee steps along the silica beach,
towards the promise of redemption?

Reaching swift waters of the sandy channel
I leave the crossing too late, nearly drowning as I try
To free myself from the powerful drag
Of the rip that wants to float my body out to sea

But I win. I kick hard and flail my arms
Flop like a fisherman’s catch upon the sand
Covering my skin in a fine downy white
That only the ocean knows how to reclaim.

Borderline

She wears an outfit that is constantly changing
The girl who was standing their yesterday
Is gone
Do not despair, she’ll be back
When the outfit has been washed and dried

Today its the little girl with ribbons in her hair
Tomorrow she has lopped it all off
It’s a constant fight and struggle
The music, the outfits, and the people
She surrounds herself with keep changing
And she changes with them
Emotional miss-regulation
Such a silly pantomime.
With this person she is Lara
With another Aral
With this one Rala
She dances a mixed up dance
Indian, Steampunk, Gothic
Can’t decide what she stands for
Cant figure out who she’s meant to be

The grumpy mood of someone she loves
Poisons the air she breathes
Sends her spinning and twirling
To collapse on the floor, like a cloud
Of black has taken hold of her throat

Honest communication doesn’t work
She just scares everyone off
Perhaps it pleases her to be so alone
But a second later she wants to be surrounded
By the cacophony of a group of people
Sharing the delight of living and happiness
She wants to stretch out her fingers and touch the stars

But she’s gone and put her foot in it
Questioned someone else’s happiness
Just because she could feel it emanating
And seeping into the pores of her skin
Now she faces their resentment and anger
And she goes away back to the loneliness
Of living on the borderline

She sick of it.  Sick of the laughter then the tears
Sick of the loneliness
Sick of being unable to move from acquaintance
To friendship
From friendship to relationship
And in these moments late at night
Comforting companion, her suicidal contemplations
Its clear to her now, she’s driven herself mad.
How can she stop her brain from THINKING.

Replace

Don’t think about crossing the bus way

Burn the Journals

Don’t mull over drunk wine

It’s time to burn the journals

Why fill the empty space

With hate
Just to
r
e
G                 e
U                     t
R            a
G     t              
i

C
R
E
Let the memories M
A
T
E

Fill the wound in my heart
Gray memorial ash
Fertilised dust of my past

Sow seeds of love and trust
Grow from pain, turning
Strength cards: XI and VIII

Mosaic Memories

It was after your death that I began to dream.  Began to dream that the walls were turning green. No longer could I find comfort in the touch of your hand as we wandered, the laughter in your voice as we talked.  Your face was slowly fading within the photographs I was creasing.

One day I found myself lost in the Sunday aisles of Bunnings, when I came across a shelf.  Packets of coloured glass squares – Ocean Blue, Banana, Lion Orange, Moss Green and Mirror.  Already my mind was filling with patterns and designs.  I forgot about the crinkled list and filled my cart with mosaic glass.

Time was absorbed as I sat and glued peace-by-piece.  The memories filtered through to my fingers and spread the colours of our love around the frame.  Now I can see you, reflected back within my eyes of the mirrored tiles.

Amber Express

I’ve spent my dole on train fares
and tickets to country cinemas.
No notes left for the backpackers,
just dollars for a glass of amber.

I’ll be the girl
sweating alcoholic warmth
in the corner table until closing.

The security guard tosses me out
next to the snoring aboriginal:
skin the colour of drunken beer.

The scotch blanket wears thin.
Daylight still three hours off.

Scuff the ashphalt
Suck a can of V
Dew falls upon my cheeks,
Cold.

The Study Cure

They made me absorb
Huge amounts of knowledge
Blocking out the pain, so
When he asked, I said:

How can I remember?

Impossible to hack past
A solid mass of study
My reasoning protected
His path to cure obscured

Wounds Reopened

These wounds have reopened
Red scar tissue, blood leaking
Staining my clothes, turning
Shower stall red, swirling 
Down the drain, clotted threads

He lifts me high, dangling legs
Twirling, my white dress whirling
Above lovely face framed dreads
Gentle and rough, is our lust
On bearskin knees bruised, lay

These wounds have reopened
Red scar tissue, blood leaking
Staining my clothes, turning
The shower red, swirling 
Down the drain, clotted threads

She sits naked, exposed breast
That had my breath catch, quiet
Within a house so loud, sigh as
Fingers enter come filled cunts
I leave behind a trail of blood.

These wounds have reopened
Red scar tissue, blood leaking
Staining my clothes, turning
The shower red, swirling 
Down the drain, clotted threads

They found me in the shower
A bomb exploded plaster debris
Washed in a white coffin tomb.
Function zero.  It’s better now.
Collapsed. Dead. Brain: Zed.

Babble. Psycho. Scribble.

There is so much I have already told you
As we sat face-to-face in the train
I have spoke my fears out load, for
All the carriage to hear, yet no one does,
They’re headphone deaf.  My voice is the melody,
My accompaniment, whispered electric wheels
Yet still you stare, sardonic smile broiling my stomach.
Leg crossed to prop, my white out-patient book.

When I lay down and your face is obscured
Behind the geometry of my own face, rising
It is only a blank wall that I glare, tears are
A triumph that blur the view of my body, decayed
A contaminant to virgin walls, White.
Of a child we shall talk.  Yet how I got here,
Is still unclear.  Babble. Psycho. Scribble.