eemer101's profile

She’s that tarnished old red lipstick To gloss, smooth over. The one with the golden frame Bursting with collagen and Vitamin A A trusty friend A faultlessly complementary spotlight. But the colour becomes fatigued, Falsely brightened, Stark contrast of the fake fluorescent blood On your enstained and decrepit face. It’s an echo Of the congenital Vlad in us all. Hazy illusions from the electricity of the world. The perpetual Venus Pharmaceuticals and lipstick Old, red, tarnished, On her teeth.

Annually, on the anniversary of my birth I think of her. The leafy sunlit canopy of her voice, The texture of her hands, And her eyes, saying She’s searching for me too. Lost and displaced are many, I was one. Yet hope firmly takes seed Torn forcefully from ancestral trees, I grafted fertility of my own. But as the flicker blows each year, Something in me flares; Each flame more passionate than the last. My movement, mind, manner- Is it coded or Painted onto my skin? Salt water breaks upon my...

Patient Name: Cheryl Stobart. exploding in tangerine, stormy, pale and viscous; clawing, infantile and over-hoarse a globular microscopic capsule and i’ll not push out of myself by vibrant rents: of throat, like thunder; of eyes, like rain. Father of Infant: John Alvos, 19. i was torn, emancipated. love antecedent to pain. legitimacy my controversy. backstitching a garment not deigned, my true fit; alien. i’m bursting to be... Birth: Forceps. i’m crimsonly fanning out of dot, line, regiment- ...

Vibrato of energised, syncopated piano beats washes over her ears. A voice as strong and pure as the stale beer essence filling her senses from the floor. She closes her eyes and lets the rhythms be her choreographer, and it’s just her and this amazing presence, all there is and all there ever was. She breathes smoothly and freely, feeling her awareness bubble and viscously meld with the crowded air around her. Claustrophobia is just an embodiment of intense and treacly thoughts, pressing in ...

Rosie. I love you… But she is out of reach, like the sweet elusive dream you can never grasp. Once it wasn't a dream… I close my eyes, the memories flood back. Her vulnerable frame, Paul’s fury, the portentous truth getting to Mr Wilkinson. My first day at Hillbrook. The eyes all turned, to see the new bloke, hey where are his two heads? I thought you said he was from Amgee? What is someone like him doing here? Maaaaaaaate... Guess I ultimately proved them all right. I have Mr Wilkinson to th...