Search This Blog

Sunday, 21 October 2012



The gaudy pills beside the water,
Spread like pic ‘n’ mix on the bedside table.
 Sunlight spilling through the curtain,
The harrowing birds,
4am. She turns over, sighs, moans.
5am. Bed-tossed hair and dark circles under her eyes.
She lights a fag, blows the air out shakily,
In her head she thinks of harsh white light, weapons of torture, clocks.

All day, caffeine-wired, pill-popper.
Running on nothing,
Pupils like universes.
Life goes past in a blur of images.
Lunchtime. A dollop of anxiety by this time,
Shaking and nausea, the tension headache kicking in.
She dissolves a painkiller on her tongue,
Crumples a polystyrene coffee cup in her hand and aims for the bin.

Twitching, nervous. He hasn’t texted back,
Her eyes keep drifting back to the phone,
Prick.
Someone walks past and she balls her bitten nails into a fist.
The clock drags its minute hand with some difficulty,
She swears under her breath,
Her leg quivers,
She taps out a tune on her desk; it mimics the humming of her heartbeat.

Back at home. A plate smashes on the floor.
Voices are raised and urgent,
The fridge buzzes in the background,
He is tired, drained. Her eyes are two blue flames, hot and wild with mania.
He tries to grab her, caress her.
She pushes him away, vehement and slurring,
Angry and sensitive, her body feels stripped of its flesh, a bundle of wires
Exposed to the light.

Later. A moment alone in the bathroom.
Tears are ripped from her as from an overtired child;
She knuckles her fist into her eyes and howls.
Hot tears stain her face, mascara tracks,
The blue light sways like a pendulum about to crash down on her.
She unscrews the bottle shakily; the drink is clean and harsh and tastes like bleach.
The knife glitters with promise, the white tiles too perfect,
Blood oozes like jam. Sirens whirr like music.

No comments:

Post a Comment