At the pier
Aged twenty-one
I have run out of words
As a child they could not keep me from the national curriculum

I knew pain
Shards amongst the pebbles
And waking to see skeletons burning in the distance
But more intoxicating

We’ve been inseperable since
Adjacent to punk
Now I’m meditating and sleepily counting syllables
But I survived that night so I knew I was here for the long run

Facepalming at my work station
Felt like a new world
Mapping my way
In my glitter scrunchie

Halting my bolting body
A pear, a pear
Faux fur coats in the style of a spice girl
Newly-dyed orange hair

Curse is an anagram
Of my husband’s
name

Now mine

Names were a source
Of torment
Like sauce

Labelling
Line nine

Trying to be
The person you
Expect

Not mine

I am crossing that line

I
am
analysing death.
It
is
so
effed.
________
| I bury my |
| fear here. |

The hair falls
I am used to this

But not like this
I picked and pulled

Until I was sick I picked and pulled
Bald patches

Sores and blisters, aching pores, thin scratches
Were my own doing

Plaiting, twisting and undoing
Repeatedly until ends frayed

Now I am afraid
It is beyond my control

I am used to control
Hair falls

Imagining this moment
For years

Youthfully picturing
Truthfully roosting

A slip could end it all

So could a jump

Or a fall

The silver-grey area inbetween
Is flashing

I climb down