Those days

Her limbs refused to hold her; they just hung around her body feeling sorry for themselves. Listless she slumbered on the closest piece of furniture that would keep her from the floor; too close to the ground and she feared she might melt into it and become the underlay of other peoples paths. Her face palmed into the crook of her shoulder as she slouched upon the kitchen counter. Today she would just be a body, a shell.

Nudge her and she will fall.

Let her sleep a while.




She chalked it up to her hilarity; it was just enough to keep them at bay, sedated, forgetful of the strings puppeteering in the background. They laughed into distraction as she cried into her palms.

Such a sad clown.


She lifted her sleeves as if to raise white flags. Her bare arms would bear arms with scars shooting daggers, swollen veins piercing hearts. A war of one could not be won. Sleeves fell to her wrists and she let the battle play out.


She revelled in her own misery; tossing it back like wine and throwing the glass over her shoulder. Shards of glass would leave her limping in the morning, a reminder that misery is no place to revel at all.


She glued diamantes to her eyelids and used glitter paint as lipstick.

In an attempt to distract from her personality, she turned her face into artwork until she could figure out a way to glue diamantes to her attitude and glitter paint her disposition.

Tough Love

She stole white lines and crisp waters to still the rising ocean. With a kiss the white wash crashed over her. Thrashed to the shore gasping for air, for forgiveness, she was not cleansed but dragged back under by the current of life.

She awaited further judgment.

From herself.