Leaning over the sink.
Porcelain no longer visible.
Veneer of blood and vomit.
She barely notices

Tarnished fingers,
once so dainty,
gripping the rim.
Nicotine fingernails.
A thousand scars.
A thousand battles.

Eyes of grey.
Darkened hollows,
oversized now,
in sallow,
sunken frame.
Other than her,
these days.

Let that which has been lost
be destroyed.

She damages what has
already been damaged.

This vessel has failed her,
she will show it no mercy.

Braving the cold,
in fearless violence,
she waits at the corner,
knife at her shin.
‘Money first’.

Note after note,
‘Two brown and three white’

Returning to hell
of her own creation.
Friends become enemies,
enemies become friends.

No clarity of vision,
through white and brown.

Raising grey eyes,
hateful reflection.
Cursing the mirror.
Fist of blood.

‘They wanna know stuff am not ready to talk about’

Two colours.
Holding power
to dissipate
even the darkest memories.

They will take everything she has.
Day after day she will chase them.

Damage that which has been lost.
Allow to be taken what was taken long ago.

The monsters will come and go.
Their numbers are many.

Brown and white.
Both comfort and despair.
Both nurturing and wretched.
Both serene and desolate.

Tearing body from soul
until neither survives.



    1. No. Honestly, I cannot appreciate enough the poetry that holds mirrors to me. It’s forcing me to manage my emotions and bad reactions. Immediately it’s “oh my gosh, she’s writing about me. She knows me. She hates me” and I breathed and said yes, in a sense, we all know each other. We’re all walking paths together. I know where I fall, I know my shortcomings, and I refuse to be in denial anymore. If anything, this helped me take that fearful reaction and say hush you. Feel the words, feel the pain, use it to be better, stronger.

      I couldn’t agree more. So very glad Rob pointed me to you!!!

      Liked by 1 person

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