Only Hollow Things Drown

Oh no, I have died again.

My body is breaking down
inside the hallow ground-
I can feel the soil,
clogging up my lungs
and turning my heart to gold.

I don’t know who killed me;
this time.
He was a coward, I imagine.
Who stabbed me in the back
then sent my mind below.

Dying is a crime
i’m well versed in.
I fell down and down
and over and over.

I hadn’t yet chose which way to die
not like before.

I found a bottle filled
like a rattle toy,
I had as a child
it emptied in minutes

Then He revived me and
then with a hollow cain
I killed him.

My hands now moving,
my blood is boiling,
my fingers print clawing up,

wasting a life.

Our synapses are hopeful,
pulling me into the air.
I rose up,
saw the tress
covered in blood
And walked away.

Don’t you worry, I will die again.
But that time better
More beautiful and
romantic.
Fall into the water and hopefully
the lonely moon won’t bring me back

again.

Burn it down

Someone once cried into the dying night.

For candles and wet witches to light
or wait for the wildfires to catch
and save their life

or kill them first.
They would burn in a white fire,
like that of a broken girl’s eyes
waiting for her heart
to be lit up like a cigarette.

Wishes and dreams betrayed them,
the fire took over

but somewhere out in the lost forest
someone else cried out,
over her stolen innocence
and forgotten life,

so, the dying night
became day instead.

Bleeding Through

Bury me in ash
while you cut my throat,
water the roses with my blood
and fertilise the sunflowers with my bones.

Dry me out until the skin is gone
and my heart has turned to stone.
The rip it out and eat it
while I lie down on my own.

Go far away
swim into the sea.
With my heart in your hand
and my blood in your mouth.

Come back one day
and raise me from hell.
I shall sit up from my shallow grave
a shadow of a girl.

Lost in state on dead.

My Love

Lay your head on my stomach my love,
kiss my hips, then bite to the bone.
Glide your hands up my thighs
then at their meeting plant the most beautiful rose
and leave it there to die.

Rip out my heart
with your blunt fingertips;
then suck out all of the blood
until it is just a rotten apple.

Put your lips on mine
until all my breath goes into you.
Put me to sleep with a beautiful melody
and poisoned cranberry juice.

Take my skin in your lovely hands
and rip it off piece by piece,
pull my veins and tie them in darling bows.

Then leave me alone to bleed,
before you dare say you love me.

I can hear the firing squad coming

Give me an armistice,
put a red cross around my neck,
lock me down in the cellar,
until the shelling begins again.

A pistol in one hand.
A machine gun in the other.

I dance on my veins
as I block the blood from the tower,

they say a solider never leaves the war ground,
not truly anyway.

A part of their mind attaches to the bullet they shot over no mans land,
then gone
forever.

My bullet is a lighter
and my poppy is made of a knife.
The red dye bleeds down into the shower
while a pill tore apart my stomach.

Birthday Dreams

There was a thunderstorm in my room
they day of the broken chimes,

the ending dream broke through
and you woke into my nightmare,

I am Ted Hughes
listen to the way she speaks;

it’s like the tapping of my feet
on the hell in the floor,

I heard the blackbird sing
a poem of the queen

like a mocking one
wishing it was trapped and free,

I am Ted Hughes
I killed the love of my life

or did her madness curse
his life, until it suffocates mine.