Saturday, 30 April 2011


SORRY, I know I promised a royal-themed poem today but I was given leave from the hospital today so was quite busy spending time at home with the fam :) I will get around to writing that ASAP. Anyway...

Introduction: Just a little'un today to keep the ball rolling. It quite represents my mood - if a friend wants to talk to me today I'd feel like a short, sharp conversation, not a long, winding rant or tear-a-thon... Enjoy and follow my blog or on twitter to get regular updates if you'd like :) it really means a lot to me. I try to keep regular content up on the blog (at least 3 times a week). That may not sound like a lot but considering this isn't just a diary of my life, it's also a creative outlet, it's a little more time-consuming.

Happy World
(And there's another picture of Yumi's to open the poem - amazing, isn't it? She's an abundance of talent.)


Be it over the hill, or far away,
End my pain, don't
You know? Please, I'm on my knees.
One way to soar, galore.
No. I won't. I'd rather be ground into

Friday, 29 April 2011

Star Spangled Spirits


Introduction: Teehee, seeing as today is the Royal Wedding and is all about Britain, I've decided to go against the tide and write a poem about America :) Don't worry, tomorrow's poem has a royal theme (I wouldn't normally upload poems two days in a row but I haven't put one up since Monday so you get an extra dose). I also have a wedding-themed short story SHOCK HORROR NOT A POEM that I might enter into a competition if I find one. If any of you have opinions on me writing a short story, or know of have any competitions, or have any feedback whatsoever, COMMENT AWAY :) !!!
Happy reading and enjoy this historical day - I'm not British in any way, shape or form but I'm in London and the nurses are in a good mood because of it so what the hell, I'm into it now!


She's a goddess, she is, with a bloody heart that oozes into the rich honey of a thousand hornets. It sinks into quicksand horizons, heavy with the stones of a hard day's shine. But be patient, my friend, there is time left on the amber clockface. Grand Central Station.

Arches of omniscient orange support a streak of molten gold. It trickles between two hummock heads, a raindrop on a window pane. The Golden Gate Bridge.

Magenta dreams dyed in heaven's hair, catch my eye, which widen, stare. The colours speak out to me, resplendent scars running deep, they seep through the onion layers of the eve. Spilling sideways, the haze is a sliding door, shutting away the nightmares with an angel standing sentry, light of life in hand. Statue of Liberty.

God is a scientist - his chromatography a wild success, nonetheless, the best he can do is paint the sky that was blue, the harsh halt of grey cliff face left untarnished by his beauty. Hoover Dam.

I watch as a cosmic treasure is smashed into smears of sapphire, ruby, rose quartz. From heights stratospheric, the remnants of sun's rays, still sizzling with daytime, fall, fall, fall. Until all rays catch a glimpse of their father sinking, drinking up all its time left on our Earth, and fan into a sulphuric, citrus swipe of sky, crying out to me in Cupid's tongue. The Liberty Bell.

Whispered wisps of azure peep through the Venetian blinds of the vivid vortex, frightened fragments of the dying day, powerless as their dear uncle falls to its knees. I squint my eyes into an awkward contortion - sure enough, there's a face, although out of proportion. A lilac arch of eye, a bent, blue nose, fuchsia coil of lip, flesh tinted with rose, a single, smouldering pupil blazing fiery red, into a birthmark of orange it slowly bled. Mount Rushmore.

The final drops of brilliant red, the wound dries up, the goddess bids farewell. An indigo iris begins to bloom in the ceiling of sky, chasing away the day with its blackthorn vines. Talons of tiger's eye claw at the chalkboard of Jupiter's navy cloak, but in vain, the pain of dusk is upon us. With a swallow, a choke, the day that once spoke becomes dumb, propelled into a teary-eyed tear in the landscape's papyrus scroll. The Grand Canyon.

Although the curtain is closing on our theatre once again, there are words left unsaid on our script left unread. The ladybird wallpaper above peels its final strips, the sand between our toes shifts, sifts, plummets into Earth's hourglass, tick, tock, quick, knock on night's door, cross the threshold. I wish 
could make me feel like a flaring Catherine wheel... Behold the palm trees, old friends by our sides, their leaves outstretched as welcome hands. A paradise poured from angel amphoras ripples before us, a windswept flag of nautical nations. Our fingers interlock, there is me, there is you, our hearts are docked in Malibu. Although we've seen the setting sun, I promise our lives have just begun.

Monday, 25 April 2011

Road Less Travelled

Hope you all had a...

This was the cover of a card I got for Easter (as you can imagine, chocolate is a strict no-no)


Introduction: Yesterday I got my first leave from the hospital in yonks and so me and my family went out to the country for a picnic and a long country walk. And (drumroll please) all the photos for this poem were taken by me in the countryside except for the clouds one :) The following poem is about the myriad of mental illnesses out there and I hope to offer you all a little hope. I'm trying to be optimistic at the moment so...

:) :) ENJOY :) :)


Continue ahead, Christ's sat-nav said,
No veering left nor right.
Diverting your route as uncommon as
Fork of fortune's bent, grey tines.

Life's flock flies as a unit,
A few straggler's left behind.
With their bird song hoarse, they wander off course
Into the back roads of mind.

Each bypass is its own,
Each track has its own traits,
The cement between the paving stones
Is set in love and hate.

My road is fenced by concrete
And sneers of spiked barbed wire.
A cinder's footsteps on my tail,
There's no turning back, you liar.

But I put up my walls
Not to keep others out,
But to see who cares and loves enough
To tear my tall walls down.

I scrawl my angel's message
With dove-feathered quill.
It catches in a passing wind,
Read my letter, take your pill:

Nails don't always fit their fingers,
Voices sometimes hate their singers,
For what they've done, where they bring them -
Into trauma's tides.

You drop your halo, you fall to your knees,
With a shiver, you beg the heavens, please,
Restore my courage, bring back these
Pieces that make me whole.

Your deepest sorrows need not be drowned.
Oh sweetest poison that you found
Will clench its fists, crudely pound
Your sparks into the earth. 

There are things in life you truly love
More than snorted snow or the heavens above.
His wick ignited by ripples of
A pond left punctured by stones.

Children of men, wet leeches latch
Onto tender, ivory skull.
They absorb the glow from behind their eyes
And beat it to a pulp.

Humans breathe, humans sleep,
In your vortex, you live warped ways.
One who cannot meet her own demands,
A gremlin-groped girl, did say:

Don't let people spoil your day,
By what they do or what they say,
It does not matter anyway,
They are only passing clouds.


- The image of roads, tracks, bypasses etc. is an extension of the idea of getting back on track from the poem dedicated to my sister 'Deirfiúr'.

- The juxtaposition of concrete and barbed wire imagery with the rural photos represents my confusion and the path I must take between my illness and recovery (from the confined barbed wire to the free countryside).

- If any of you out there are into nature (personally I'm not) then that white flower above is a Narcissus and is called Pheasant-Eye, or so said a passer-by.

- Each verse of the letter in this poem refers to a different mental issue and they follow in this order

1. Child Abuse
2. Anxiety
3. Alcohol Addiction
4. Drug Addiction
5. Depression
6. Anorexia
7. Well... The final verse was actually a little message given to Yumi by her dad, but it is relevant for all of us. We've all just got to roll with the punches and live in the moment.

Enough of the heavy stuff, here's a little humour for your Bank Holiday Monday


I took a snap of this in Asquith's Teddy Bear Shop in Henley. I recommend a visit, it's the cutest shop you'll ever visit :3

Teehee. If you like animal humour, you HAVE to watch BBC's Walk On The Wild Side, it's bloody hilarious XD

It looks like summer is finally on the way which is symbolic of many things for me (literally light at the end of the tunnel if you'll excuse the cliché). Speaking of seasons beginning, give this song a listen, utterly beautiful: Elephant Gun by Beirut

Quit your jibber-jabber, I hear you say.

Signing off and all the best,
LL x

P.S. I always love comments, so please, please, please, any feedback at all is welcome.


Saturday, 23 April 2011


Introduction: I was feeling vulnerable and was losing faith in the recovery process today and this is expressed through this brief, simplistic poem, inspired by a piece of artwork from the amazingly talented Yumi :) I know it's short but still, I hope you enjoy! There will be no Notes for this poem as a) I want to leave it open to interpretation b) there's not much to interpret anyway and c) well, I'm tired and... hahaha just kidding!

(If you're new to the blog, Yumi, Water, Sage and Mikli are friends of mine who I've assigned codenames so we can sound cool when we walkie-talkie each other... again joking, it's so they stay anonymous.)


This poem
Is going to you.

First class,
I asked
The postman to,

Send fragments of faith
In a parcel your way.
By God, little one, you deserve it.

Can you believe Yumi drew that! I thought she'd printed it off of the internet. Her talents never cease to amaze me...


Thursday, 21 April 2011

Snakes & Adders

Introduction: A friend of mine was having a difficult time a few weeks ago as they were stuck in the hospital when I was on leave and well, when life keeps getting you down, life is like a game of snakes & adders (haha! Pun!) I'm giving smaller introductions now because I feel it's better to leave it open to interpretation so I'm not shoving the s summary in your face before you've even read a book... Enjoy!


The board game.
Is it a race to the finish from the start?
From square to square to square I have to heave my heavy heart.
How I wish to skip a dozen places, to fly on fortune's dart?
But my eager eyes fail to glimpse a bullseye.

The dice.
The saboteur strikes before the game's even begun,
He weighs my dice on sunshine's side, I'm forever rolling ones,
A flashback of my purest days when I could have maybe won.
The memories slip through cracks although I try.

The counters.
In our honeypot of hues, we're each to our own
But just ants on this board, we haven't grown.
Did the farmer fall ill before our seeds were sown?
If we were settled in soil, we'd flourish.

The snakes.
Forked tongues, red-hot, they singe my skin.
No ladders, the adders, their next of kin,
Launch us spiraling down, circling drains of sinks.
We are mortal, tender, malnourished.

The players.
Their numbers vary, two to six.
My broken bones from stones and sticks
They pieced back together, do jigsaws fit?
In long games, the players deplete.

The manual.
The instructions melt into coffee stains.
The pain of my past, it surfaced again.
No words tell me how though the beast will be slain
Before it knocks me off my feet.

The box.
The dice is snatched, snakes bare their fangs.
A shower rail, a banshee hangs.
In my cherub's ears, the church bells rang.
The lid slid firmly shut.


- First of all, THIS IS MY LEAST FAVOURITE POEM TO DATE but Yumi disagrees with me...

- Well, all I'm going to say is: 

The board game is life in general.
The dice is the chances we have to take in life.
The counters are sufferers of eating disorders.
The snakes are eating disorders.
The players are carers for sufferers.
The manual is fate.
The box shutting before the game is finished is my life ending before I've fully recovered from my illness.

The line about sticks and stones came to me when S&M by Rihanna was on he radio here at a mealtime... God, Capital FM is turning my brain to mush.

The concept of this poem came to me when I was wearing a pair of Snakes & Ladders Topman socks. They're a bit loud but I like them.

Thanks for reading :) x

Sunday, 17 April 2011


Introduction: A week ago today, I did something awful and I'm not sure I'll ever forgive myself for hurting my family that badly, especially my sister who has A levels this summer and cannot take any more stress from me. I called her up and read this out to her on Tuesday. I hope she accepts my apology...

Comment if you like :)


After the suffering of this past year,
When from the roots, sprouted fears,
Through all the hurt, the prices we've paid,
I promise our lives will blossom again.
You're too good a sister, too good a friend,
For someone like me to bring your life to an end.
You have your own path, keep treading you way.
There is one word I want to say:
I made the bulbs dim and fade
In our family's fairy lights that Mum & Dad made.
When my bulb short-circuited, blew a fuse,
You stayed by my side, it's you I can't lose.
It'd be so easy for you to take off into bliss.
My dreary, grey heart I doubt you would miss.
But along with your burden, you carry another:
A love, undying, for your baby brother.
You stay onboard when my ship is sinking.
No matter what I say, I am always thinking -
What did I do to deserve this care,
This support, this friendship, anytime, anywhere?
I admire your strength, courage, thick-skin.
You're a candle that never goes out in the wind.
Even when my chains drag you down too,
You pick yourself up, push on through.
For you've so much to live for, your horizons wide,
Your friends, your studies, the ball's on your side.
Or your court, I should say, one more mistake,
But I'll forever regret the one I made
on Sunday night. Inexcusable, wrong.
Your heart I scarred, but you have hurt all along.
Since the day I abandoned you, turned my back,
Disappeared off reality's track.
Could I be more
The answer is no.
My apology's a teardrop, so sincere, so
Great it will pour into a watery rug,
Wrap around you and give you a hug.
That my illness rammed between
Holidays, good times we could have seen.
I'm the ink blot on our white, blank page,
You've no idea how furious, enraged
I am with myself for hurting you,
Mum, Dad, Alexandra too.
That ends now, it's the train's final stop,
I will climb my Everest, reach the top -
For you, for me, for everyone
Who's loved and supported me since day one.
My troubles have jarred your voice out of key
But sing loud and proud, don't let me
Shadow your future that shines so bright,
Make you need to be rocked to sleep every night.
I want your soul to flourish, last,
I don't want your clock to run slow or fast.
I want you to function, to live life, to be,
But a smog to your sun, here it is again, me.
I'd say, "Go with the wind," wherever, whenever,
I'd allowed you to run, I'd severe your tether.
But still you would sit on the grass, rest awhile,
Turn your face to mine and give me a smile.
For that I'll be grateful forever, don't think
I'll ignore your love and continue to sink.
I'll get back on the track, although I've sinned.
Hold my hand, together we'll be gone with the wind.

The title is Irish for Sister.

Thursday, 14 April 2011


Introduction: Today in Art Therapy the theme was 'Lifeline' and for once (OMG) I stuck exactly to the theme! Lately I've been having some difficult thoughts/ideas lately so I'm trying to pour them into poetry rather than being wayward enough to act on them. So, to anyone I know out there, for all our sakes, I would never do the following. This poem actually brings a tear to my eyes, and that's saying something as I'm usually inured to the darkness of my poems. I'll write a more upbeat poem next for sure, as we all need some positivity in our lives. Anyway, comment away (OMG again, I rhyme accidentally, poetry runs in my blood hahaha). The following is a nightmare of mine... But it will never NEVER become reality.


Sink, sink, into the drink, is what the devil makes me think

Bathed in hate, my heavy plate
too much for me to cope.
Turn off the taps, my neck relax,
into the depths I slope.

Her rope uncoils from shores unspoiled.
She throws it out to sea.
I glimpse it through the green and blue,
ignore her desperate pleas.

Sink, sink, into the drink, is what the devil makes me think

Giver of life, a loyal wife,
mother of greater good.
I flounder, flail, head full of hail,
I don't listen although I should.

I sigh, I breathe, with angel's ease,
my lungs swell up with water.
My rusted spokes, I writhe, I choke.
No more sons, no more daughters.

Sink, sink, into the drink, is what the devil makes me think

The woman rests, she now accepts.
One tear runs down her cheek.
She would howl, she would weep, plunge into the deep.
She grasped my hand, so white, so weak.

The sirens blare. Child, do not fear.
Just slip into a dream.
A nightmare comes, it grips my lungs.
I do not wish to be.

Sink, sink, into the drink, is what the devil made me think

Lifeline... Flatline...

Monday, 11 April 2011

Mind That Child!

Introduction: I was driving home from hospital on leave when I saw an ice cream van... I liked the words on the back, they related to me. Themes in this poem include vulnerability and regret. Here goes...


A tapenade of tarmac furls out before my feet, feel the concrete, cold to toes. Who knows, maybe the fallen children of trees can feel it too: Their ripe, old, majestic golds, earthy oranges, fiery reds.
Left on the sidewalk, plaguing the pavements, the scattered ashes of a leafy life-form, dormant. For now. A gust with teeth, a sword unsheathed, jack-knifes into the balmy hues - the horn heralding the coming of autumn.

A timeless tinkle, a wink from my past, when my two petite feet could not scurry too fast. The hardest iron of ironies... 
Charon is seated behind a brittle screen, navigating the oceans of a street uncleaned. Sailing onwards, beating through the wind. I've sinned. Don't take me mistakenly. You are never too grown to grovel, but afore I sink to knees, forced by mind's breeze, my eyes gibe.

To a mascot, powder-pink whirlpool nested in a lone cone. Chiming louder, haven't found her.
The girl.
She'll make it make sense, bring me back to whence I came from: The stencil of society. With piety, step one, step two, is what I do, step three, it's me, it's where I be. 

Pavements part like the Red Sea, at deft swipe of hand, to the borders they lean. Between, is me - I don't pick sides. Open wide my arms, my wingspan feather-fingered. Take me to the place where angels linger.

For that is what the weak seek.

My fate on a plate, I've duly scraped. Time to end where I begun, the clock strikes one. But as the white ship nears, bow slicing warring wake. For my own sake I realize. With my own eyes, I see wheeled heels, scratched paint on metal, an engine reels, a silent movie's tape, its story seeps into dreamless sleeps of filmographers. 

No ferry of the dead crosses River Styx. Fix my dysfunctional preconceptions - A human man with human hands and human breath.
His name is Seth.
Twin silver chevrons = an ornamental nose, the purring rose. "Take me," I said. I've bled for too long. Let my memories spurt from red poppies blooming from skull. Let them stream into gutters, a puddle of past gone by. Do I care?

No. Why? Sigh.

The mass of motor rolls to a stop, brakes they screech, the doors unlock. A hand lined with age, marked with life, come in contact with yesteryear's knife. He opens palm, I read the psalm, a wrinkled epitaph etched with harm. His fingers splay, arms cradle, take me away. He lays me to rest in the boot of his van, awake, eyes wide. The angelic-white hearse carried me to the other side...

Mind me.


- This poem is probably my hardest to figure out yet, so read it a few times if you're confused. Just to clear up, the ending is ambiguous, the boy could have died or lived, depends how you interpret it :)

On a lighter note, check out 'Shake Your Chin'.
And if your a male sufferer of an ED, find help and support on Men Get Eating Disorders Too

Saturday, 9 April 2011


Introduction: This poem is about a little boy. He's out there somewhere in the real world but this is my re-imagining of his tale. His name was...


I stare 
into your tortoiseshell eyes like feline's fur,
I run my fingers through your hair
like sand dunes on that same beach where
Mummy and Daddy first had a 'disagreement'.
I was scared.
You held my hand, said that life's not fair,
said that Daddy's angry, but not to care,
he charged at Mummy, his knuckles bare,
Things were wrong but I couldn't see it.

I counted
the cars in the driveway, Mummy's green,
Daddy's black van nowhere to be seen.
My eyes were red in the wing-mirror,
behind me, you stand with an outstretched hand.
A fountain
in a park, watching water glide.
Your hushed whisper, your arms open
wide, you cocoon me, but I glance to one side.
Daddy's here - my screams fall away, just sand.

I recall
the morning, I poured my Rice Krispies,
dressed myself, brushed my teeth all too quickly.
I was a good girl but Daddy found me,
he hit me, said that to him I'll always be dead.
That's not all.
When he'd finished with me, left my bones in my bed -
Said that he'd find you instead.
My head turned in a whirlwind has Mummy
left? "I'm afraid too, Mummy," I said.

I tip-toed downstairs like you told me to,
If he ever laid his hands on you,
Put my hand on the doorknob but I couldn't do
it. No, I'll never leave you to die.
By grunts and splashing I was led
to the kitchen, why is the tap-water red?
With his iron ape's arms he held your head
underwater. No need to ask why.

I would
have picked up the phone by its neck
and called someone but none were left.
I'm a coward, I don't want his breath
all over my own skin.
A wooden
cupboard under the stairway,
he grasped your throat, blocked your airway.
As he shut the door, looked at me as if to say:
You're next and you know it.

A shriek.
Then silence, still as glass.
You don't emerge but Daddy does.
Please don't hurt me, don't be rough,
Just be quick, get the gun.
I'm weak.
I curl in a ball and cover my eyes,
If I can't see him, he'll get a surprise
when he can't see me. I hear a deep sigh,
Through spread fingers, I seem him run.

The longest day
has passed when I rise on unsteady feet.
Uncertain of what sight I'll meet.
I approach the cupboard, take a peek.
Your eyes stare but they don't see me.
I kneel at your side, put an ear to your chest.
Take life with a pinch of lemon zest
you'd say to me, you always knew best.
Sleep easy, dear brother, sleep easy.

How I wish I could save you,
I laid one lily on your grave to
Make you feel the same to
The soil in our garden.

Don't go.


- This poem has no particular significance to me personally, I have just come across many interesting books about child abuse on my unit such as 'Child C' by Christopher Spry and 'Don't tell Mummy' by Toni Maguire. Awfully sad and disturbing but all the same fascinating and informative reads if you've never checked them out. Be warned: Those books are not for young eyes.

Thanks and sorry my poems are darker at the moment, I'm going through a rough patch at the moment and it is being reflected in my poetry as my feelings always are.

I hoped you liked this poem, it's a bit different :)

Comments welcome, keep reading! x

Thursday, 7 April 2011


Introduction: This poem was inspired by Black Swan. The image of the ballerina performing a pirouette (neither moving forwards or backwards but stationary whilst dizzy and confused) portrays my feelings of constant indecisiveness as I can pick no direction - moving on in my recovery or sliding back down into a relapse - so I stay where I am, but in uncertainty. Without realizing it, having talked to a dear friend today who has experienced it, I added elements of child abuse. I think the ballerina image came to be because it is the typical anorexic stereotype - although I hate stereotypes (well, I clearly don't adhere to the stereotypes as a heterosexual guy...)


Her arms spread wide, dancing hawk of night.
Toe-tipped, in a breeze she sways
Like reeds in the wetlands, she'll never forget him.
Her dad made her childhood a haze.

In your studio of dance, the see-saw's chance,
You recoil from devil silhouettes.
Red or blue? It's up to you
And your twirling pirouette.

Its shadowed paws, at hearts they claw:
The prowling of a panther.
With drumsticks long or golden gongs
Speak out and sing your anthem.

Your cobbled path, misted in wrath,
Dreams lured into nets.
Black or white? Left or right?
Your whirling pirouette.

On her airy cloud's feet, this fairy was beat
By a buckle of father of stone.
With her daffodil's dance, all that she asks
Is his approval for her own.

Your troubled mask of troubled past
Forever in stone, set.
Up or down or all around
Your swirling pirouette?

To the handrail she clings, unable to bring
Herself closer to corners that hide
Mysterious matter, her potential in tatters,
She'll sew herself up in good time.

In the ballet mirrors, the gremlin is clearer,
Eyes of blood-curdling black jet.
Shiny or matte? This or that?
Your eternal pirouette.

With your last gazelle's prance, save the last dance.
Make your choice and do not lie.
Her knees buckle, break, her choice is made.
The mirrors watch her die.


- The gremlin, the panther and the devil silhouettes all represent anorexia.

- The 'father of stone' sexually abuses the ballerina as a child.

- Her troubled mask being set in stone shows how difficult it is to move on from a traumatic experience and live your life.

- The constant questions represent my indecisiveness.

Thanks for reading :) I've got a few sad poems coming up in the next few days/weeks... 

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Rain Man

Introduction: As the second installment of 5 Friends, this poem is dedicated to Water, a true friend. The title of this poem is pinched from the movie 'Rain Man'. I also drew some inspiration from the Series 3 finale of 'The O.C.', a great show if you've never seen it. The main theme of this poem is that Water will find the man of her dreams and I hope that I can help her get there in some way  or another (carry her through the rain), however small it maybe. And even if I don't quite make it (I may fade into history) I know she will, in fact, more than that, I promise her that she will 100% be completely free from anorexia in ten years. Themes of this poem are love, loss and the struggles of moving on from this illness. Sorry it's SO long. Comment if you like it pleeeeeease :)



The sun danced across the river's glass
In a ballerina sway.
The auburn-haired maiden
stands kerb-side this day.

Black cabs swarm in hornet storms
With pollen-yellow beacons.
The metropolis puffs and pants with life,
What gift is this girl seeking?

Green man beams down, returned to Earth,
He beckons the people parade.
She bounds across the barcode of zebras,
Vivid memories of journeys past made.

With a hop, skip and jump, in her palm rests, cherished,
A lone rose for the man she loves.
But her passion is secret, enclosed in a chest
That this day shall release all its doves.

A shriek of rubber on road, horns melt into tears,
The traffic, a toddler, it bawls.
A rocket launches, hurls her feet in the air.
No gravity, she floats, she falls.

Weightless, life wanes in her eyes, no longer
full moons like the orb newly risen
In the canvas of sky, stars splattered in paint.
Day to night, it was God's decision.

She clatters on concrete, a sack of bruised bones,
Sultry breath brushes her cheeks.
A boy's in her arms, his heart pumping, a piston,
Truck-struck too his fragile frame weak.

Yet with one swipe of his hands, with one swoop of his legs,
Rod upright, he cradled the maiden.
Flames flew, a phoenix, from hot, mangled metal.
The wreckage, heartbreak-laiden

From the hazed blaze of sorrow, the pair arose,
Her limbs limp, her tongue lolling.
The clouds prised apart by a storm's iron arms,
Walls of water cascaded, falling.

The little boy shuffled down a thronged thoroughfare,
The ocean of traffic can't flow.
Maiden sprawled in his arms, is she deep in slumber,
Or were demons with her long ago?

Will she plummet to hell, where the demons dwell?
"Not for now," the boy grimaced and marched.
As he turned a corner, his rags sodden, skin-clinging,
His broader back lengthened, unarched.

The floorwards flood would never cease.
The forever night kept shrouded
Her cashmere skin, fuschia bow in fringe,
The boy so grateful he'd found it.

The street wore on, unchanged, bright headlights gazed
Into his eyes, searching for answers.
He had none to share and nor did he care,
Now a teen, he was desperate to ask her

What her doves would sigh if they were let loose,
But his train of thought derailed.
As his face was bathed in crimson blood,
As the Lord's rain morphed to hail.

The teen plodded on, his soul long gone,
Feet sunken in quicksand no more.
As he carefully played the Grim Reaper's game,
He would lose if she fell to the floor.

Stones of hail smatter down, each an anvil itself,
His cheeks sallow and browned with dried blood.
Stems of stubble sprout from peach soil of his chin.
The youth wades through a park's knee-high mud.

With his feet blistered red, they slowly bled.
Until within a copse he halted.
Thunder calls, amber trident of twilight.
His tears taste bitter, salted.

The seed of responsibility, love,
faith and grace and hope,
talent and wisdom, kindness and friendship,
in his heart began to grow

And flourish into a veteran oak.
He took great gulps of air.
She's an infant, vulnerable, he thought as he blew
New leaves into her air.

His legs jump-started, his heart departed,
the youth and his maiden soon followed.
The terrible torrent of heavens raged on,
Eroding him, leaving him hollowed.

Earth strobe light's flickered, jagged scar of skies,
Made his shoulders expand within seconds.
He emerges on streets, where the crossroads meet,
Has his burning courage lessened?

He follows a stream, poured from gutters it seems,
nuzzling the maiden, close to his chest.
His bulging biceps cloak her in warmth,
Of what he can manage, it's best.

The night-tide is Arctic, his pale, pallid flesh
Almost bare and naked to nature.
Life wafts from her pores like steam from a kettle,
She must live but he can't make her.

The downpour drives on, the man's trek has been long.
In agony, he arrives at a porch.
He lays her to rest in a basket of bliss
Where she'll bask in the light of Life's torch.


She arouses, her vision like blurry white noise,
Her memory loosely threaded.
But deep in the delves of her mind somewhere is
One more decade of knowledge embedded.

Warm and close to her arms, is a man's beating heart,
The original receiver of roses.
He loved me back, and that was that,
So we're married, she supposes.

Oystered in duvet with the man of her dreams,
She recalled who carried her home:
It's not the man embracing me.
Surfaced snapshots of long ago -

An ethereal air, his locks snowy strands,
Arms of whispering, wispy white.
Black iris in eyes, his formless feet
Float an inch above ground in the night.

When he'd left her to be, into history,
The man faded, a tragic sensation.
Like the harrowing rains of eve long ago,
She now flooded with realization.

He had perished in God's accident,
His soul soars in the embers.
In a ghost's crib she was carried homewards,
For eternity she'll remember.

The accident had changed her,
Made her thick-skinned, strong as willow.
As her petalled fingers happened upon
That same rose under her pillow.


- I have used a variety of tenses ON PURPOSE because it adds to the state of confusion in Water's state of mind.

- Some verses run on to each other (Enjambement. Oooh! Fancy word!) to show how relentless the pain of his journey is.

- The boy growing to a man as he carries the girl home (the girl in this case representing the burden of difficulties that living your life in the real world throws at you) is symbolic of the journey I have to take and how much I will have to grow mentally to be able to face up to my fears.

- The boy/man carrying the girl represents 1) my want to have and care for my own girlfriend (not Water, we're good friends and she's hot but we're still friends) 2) my want to be a strong man capable of looking after not only myself but others too 3) that Water will have a partner who will mind her forever.

- The boy/man turning out to be a ghost is representative of my fears that things that appear to be going well, are in reality as bad as they could possibly be.

- The rose represents the happiness and care-free life Water led as a child and that she will return to once she is done and dusted with this illness.

- 'Earth's strobe light' is lightning.

- 'her memory loosely threaded' is in reference to traumatic repressed memories of mine.

- The mention of God, the Lord and the Grim Reaper is referring to the idea that maybe are lives are influenced by more than just biology... don't worry, I'm not going to get all holistic and spiritual and crap, I'm just writing poetry!

- The 'green man' is on a traffic light and the 'barcode of zebras' is a zebra crossing, in case you didn't know.

- The 'demons' are anorexia.

Keep an eye out for a poem about indecision titled 'Pirouette'. Keep reading! And a huge thank you to my 2, I repeat 2, followers. THAT'S TWO MORE THAN ON MONDAY! YAY! I'M JUST SOOO POPULAR! Okay, I'll calm down now...