Smiley ManThere are those stories in the papers where a person has died and their pets have eaten their faces off, and everyone's always so disgusted by the dear trusted pet eating their owner, (how can you blame the animal? It's efficient.) Sometimes the owner isn't actually dead, they've just passed out, so they wake up and have no lips, and they look like they're grinning. Like a skull.My childhood Smiley Man was like that, but no eyelids either. He looked like a skull, in that way, except he had eyes and there was skin on his face, just not over his teeth. And all he ever did, really, was chase. So I'd run, and I'd think I'd have got away, but he had long fingernails, so he could just scratch me, rip my clothes. Seemed perfectly natural, then.I'd go to the closet to get my coat and stand on a box, because I wasn't tall enough, and I'd think I see him, but he was just something out of my dreams, my own, slightly sicker Bogey Man. The Smiley Man. Sounds like a clown. It's always the childish
On a shelf too highVeins filled with wax,Burning hot, until I die,Then solid, cold,Bright red,The syringe in my skin,Crooked little vein,In the crook of my elbow,Blue, blue, blue, wax.Tiny tiny baby child,Burnt, singed, black,Shiny,You're quite beautiful,In your way,And you're mine.Stolen away from me,Like things are,In the night, the only one crying,Because my baby's gone,Autopsy, to know,Vivisection, to learn,My baby's baby heart, still beating,Its baby soft bones, brittle and bruised,Pickled, they put him in a jar,And put him on my shelf,Too high for me to reach.So mindless, lobotomised,On my knees praying, gagging,Smells like sex,My baby smelt like caramel,On a shelf too high,Mindless, mindless,Lobotomised,Because thinking brings you down.
Be A Good Girl nowI played hide and seek with my mother,Hid beneath the floorboards,And watched her frantic feet,Listen to her voice, playful toScared,Then crawled out,Covered in dust,And laughed,Stole and hid my father's things,And watched him search,Just because,And mother had her hand,Father had his belt,They had their threats,How they hated,To carry through,I'd call their bluff, call their bluff,Force them,Because I knewThey so hated to,And they wouldn't dare.And I told mama,Your slaps are half-arsed,And she told me can you blame me?You are what you are,And I'm still your mother,And fathers reluctant belt, the same,Remember him speechless,When I said,So hit me, it's just a bruise, just a welt,Took his big hand in my small one,And grinned up, darling,And he left, speechless,Confused when I was not sweet.Vindictive child,Grandma Lyn said,You're sweet when you're sweet,But you're bad as mewhen you're bad,(how chic she was)and she smiled and kissed my cheek,and l
Left Glass HouseSex on a bed of nails,bad as skulls,all elbows and knees,sounds interesting, sounds exasperating,sounds vexing,we can handle it,take it all,but that doesn't mean we want to.I can feel my ribs,But that doesn't make me thin,Delicately stepping, I left Glass House,Where tensions run high,Teeth gritted, and where it all shows,on the shallow surface,touch your chest,Like water, sink my hand through.Left my eggshells on the doorstep,I broke out,But still sleep foetal, in nests,And long for cages,coffins and small spaces,bent and folded in boxes,to be held down.
And I thought dullyComfortable,Uncomfortable,In my white skin,Should be used to wearing white.Alive or just breathing,Panic attack, I breathe too much,Dull pigeon, I'll be white,Bruises my something,My purest virgin blue.And I thought, its ugly,Misanthropy,Forgive me,Gritty gritty grey,Sex, affairs,The butterfly lies around them,keep it moral,If you know the meaning of the word,It's a hopeless, desperate,sordid world.And I thought,Dully,What a pity if it snows.
ScentWarm, sickly sweet scent,Bodies too hot,Silhouette of roses by the window reflectedin grimy spotted mirror, silverimitation of a content face,thoughts entwined easy,the blue ring around my neck.Caesar's elephant,black shirt, scented,ever-present, past,future,a scent with a ribbon, gift,and purple souvenirs,that solemnly fade,violent violet sunset.Not an ending,A pause,The sun rises in the east.Curtains closed,We see by vibrant candlelight,The flickering things we are.and solitude never tasted so sour,miss the salt,miss the copper tastes,purple, red,apparent and wanted.everything smells dusty here,now.