They could try again in a few years,

Yet she left the box untouched

And sewed her skin with salt

-Even though she was cleaned 

By the torrent of tears.

The tissue dissolves in his touch,

It leaves residue as it brushes his lips,

It breaks away on his finger tips;

He absorbs it,

a more sinnued heart

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Primary and dull colours bore us, 

But when my twin’s rainbow windows shine on my sallow skin,

They mix together and our veins are made deeper.

He animated us;

instead of simply seeing red:

We can taste the scarlett drawn by his bite on our lips. 

It drips and sets ablaze our skin

-melting me to my twin

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I have glazed over eyes and dull grey skin.

My twin has flushed cheeks and rainbow windows.

The grey or primary colours bore us;

together the vermillion in our veins is deeper and there is synesthesia:

instead of feeling dead or simply seeing red,

I can taste the scarlett drawn by his bite of my lips. 

Its dripping warmth claws at his back, it teases and pulls at his hair, and it...

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Its jaws are too wide;
Into the deep it dived,
Echoing my cries.

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The school nurse sighed

When the girls’ tummies ached.

But it’s not just a period:

Now it’s the doctors sighing,

Whenever I come in crying,

It’s just depression.

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I’m so alone

Está llorando,

No sé cuando terminará.

Si supiera:

Podría ayudarnos.

Estoy tan sola.

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Gushes of blood

In the black and white ink,

That dragged her through the mud

And sent her to the brink.

She drank the bleach

previously used

To blot out each

Word which oozed

The pus of her spots,

the goo in her eye:

It all pools and clots

Into one big lie.

How dare she wake up,

Without her makeup?

They are all spies,

She should pander to them

-Not h...

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I’m wriggling my toes,

But nobody knows.

I’m Giggling and trapped.

But then she cracked.

I can’t breathe,

Now that i can leave.

The pressure is rising,

Their smiles are dying.

They don’t understand;

Just fucking stand.

-She’s only made out of sand.

You’re being immature

And an attention whore.

Shes my captor,

Holding me in a coma

-She’s like a blanket.

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softly breaking into you;

consumingly giving to you:

everything.

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Frozen or falling; I feel like rain

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I can't move or

that itchy buzzing

will stirr;

alarms sounding:

I'm faster,

than a corpse.

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It is a wicked smile they wear

as they watch the wolves wilt,

as at their flesh they tear

and accesorise with their pelt.

So they squirm and writhe,

ugly in their agony:

because in order to survive,

they surrender their dignity.

They howl at the moon,

and catch their reflections,

at the mercy of women.

So they degrade its subjects,

to the level of mere objects.

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I'm hugging the sun,

embracing its rays.

The window is open,

wind strokes me in waves.

Outside noise is numbed,

by the rushing and pulsing:

the only sound to be heard,

is of our hearts beating and lips parting.

Condensation trickles

down the panes of the glass,

its mist blankets us,

from any memory of the past.

In fact: it feels as though,

we are in a womb,

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This is about the guy who groomed me so language feedback would be 'really appreciated:)

In the sauna

I was an open wound.

My skin was anger:

sore and raw and 

so self-conscious-

always naked.

I'd be feverish,

dehydrated,

and shaking.

The constant craving for salt,

was provoked by me,

so it was 'all my fault'

he was so thirsty.

He'd tear me apart...

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White noise is the cloak my mind wears

to protect me from its darkness.

I'm always elsewhere,

In a place of emptiness.

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I’m wrapped in cling film I’m sure of it:

(unlike sensation)

paralysed and mute, I feel it;

the temptation

to

rot.

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I’ll be sanded away from the inside out,

hollowed, seared, and crushed.

I can only relieve the heaviness

and only by breaking the glass.

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Desperate for your mind to be intertwined with mine,

I writhe and thrash into your seductions.

By being intimate we are lying:

pretending to have reached a resolution

-when really all I can feel is acute stinging

of my body and emotions.

Without engaging your feelings,

all I feel is friction;

down: your sciroccian winds are rasping

my spirit and global expectations.

A...

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Out of focus there is nothing.

But he needles his way in.

And his warmth spreads,

and his essence flows and ebbs

in my mind and in my smile and in my bed.

He’s the cerebrospinal fluid

that floods my skull,

and all my cracks until I’m full.

Finally: a flash of his face and flesh;

vivid, quick, and then death.

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