it’s your fault i’m this miserable

shame in my nail beds
that i’ve watched stars wretch under your fingernails
and watered the weeds in your stare.

your breathing
the the the ache of your sound
the etched into my womb

every morning after pill has a name.
i baptise them like babies
and i look at the bloody state

in my palms.
ooooooooooooh doctor will i ever consume.
you grip my hand

as once more i unfold.
another iron pill.
another month.

you used to be obsessed
with with with with my wire.
but now call me a summer lay.

dry my tears
i am lost over the way you were last active
11 minutes ago

tell me you’d fucking die for me
ttttttttttttttttttttttake your talons
aaaaaaaaaaaaaand latch onto me

your grease,
your fucking evil

gggggggggggggggggod where do i go to settle this?

to make it fair?
divorce papers lick their lips
in my dreams.

i had a vision you’d told me
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyou were done with me
bbbbbbecause i had given you my sex.

and because i were some bitch
hanging over your kitchen counter
wired still. going mad.

crippled by the disappearing trick
ooooooooooooof my insides.
oh doctor will i ever consume.

you. you’re the reason i’m miserable.
you’re the reason for the black ink
grilling my underwear 6 days before i ovulate

yyyyyyyyyou. walk over to me as i sleep
the deadline of the new moon
wwwwwwrites another poem nobody sees.

no light, no light.
your fate’s design only leads to my heartache.
what laughable devastation am i

take your needle
aaaaaaaaaaaaaabort me

and tell me it’s my fault you’re this miserable.


the big comedown

used to listen to youth a long time back.
fourteen. balling the moon up in my fists.
a pub closes down
my guts are uncertain. boiling.
i am ready to lose my virginity.

feel tired in his arms.
carry me to bed. seventeen.
heart a little more alive
rosebud at the edge of noon.
it might be a dandelion. who knows?

blowing away my scars.
i used to drag the point of a compass
across my stomach
just to fill the silence in my bedroom
as i toss pills back.

he asks what kind of pills
and my salty fingers fish up some rennie.
and a half eaten box of sushi.
a daughter licking out the wax of a candle.
i chewed grass my dog pissed on.

and didn’t know.
the ground is deaf to my footsteps.
water fails to touch me.
a raindrop on my sore back.
a porn video left by my best friend’s dad.

blot clots stuck around my nose.
nineteen. hollow pit
and shakes in the shower.
Elvis gets his groove on
as i try to find my last period.

hair loss. my mother sweeps the ocean off my face.
sweat harassing me.
i find my debit card and chop.
the airport never notices my sullenness.
i groan.

my body clears the cuts.
i am unspeakable.

i’m only good for the cigarettes in my pocket

someone puts a spoon in me and stirs.
i am piccadilly circus on amphetamines
the alcohol gurgling in my eyes

i go to the bathroom, i throw up
the boys help themselves to my cigarettes,
to my self-respect, but they don’t even know it.

and i can’t help but wish
someone was holding my hair behind my neck right now
to stop my mistakes sticking between the strands

and a heavy heart of disgrace
as a friend blames me in his slurry state
for getting kicked out of a lock in we weren’t invited to

there’s coke on my shoulders
and a kid inside my bones wailing to get out
i think of the freesias my mother gave me for my birthday

and shiver
because i have lost the Barbie girl in me
who loves daisies and swings and orange juice

this woman threatens me in the mirror,
she gets afraid of the confronting night
and storms out of the apartment, angry,

that she’s only good for the cigarettes in her pocket
and that she shares nothing
but all of herself

to wasted thursdays under the glare of red wine
and abuse from people who don’t even ask her
where the hell she comes from

but spill their pride like cum all over her face
and tell her to clean up
and tell her to bleach away the bruises speckling her smile.

i never saw such a woman.
but she wore six inch boots and fur coats
and she scared me.

the hours gloop down my throat
and so i give up on people
and so i quit smoking.

it’s funny cos you’re sleeping with him

pain’s a slip of the tongue
passing fancy,
or you find it sometimes in your pockets by accident

your room fills up with smoke
so does your head
you remember conceiving a can of worms on that bed

and he opened it with one final thrust.
you think spring comes alive
whenever you open your eyes.

and in a room full of mirrors you are back
with a baggy of mandy
and scrannin’ whatever you can.

you’re not one colour.
you steal everybody’s cigarettes.
you put your dolly to bed.

you say you hate yourself,
but you don’t really.
you’re a lovely purple on Sundays

and you think you’re a princess of rainbows.
how happy.
how comforting.

and it’s funny when you stare at your ceiling all night
as he paces the floor 10 minutes down the road in his bedroom
anticipating his next wank

he whips it out and bleeds thoughts of you from his pipe.
he begins to wipe away the mess
from his sweaty face.

that he put his heart into you
and you laid waste
to a winter he loved centuries ago.


you were my new year’s resolution.
i would’ve put you in my lungs
and continued to cough you out.

your fingers dripping with a lemon smile
and it’s worthwhile
to note we’ve all carefully sucked God’s balls

at our most vulnerable.
but you’re a trick of the light.
an unreal scent.

and i just think it’s funny how we’re all sleeping together in bed.
i think it’s funny how much my nails have grown
so i can scrape your dirty face from my memory.

and how many times i’ve seen your face in Deansgate
sat with a cheeseburger
as you try to inconspicuously rub your fanny.

is it itchy?
or is it just what you do when you see me,
the memory you get paying for a special mistake pill over the counter?

does it hurt?
did you find anything in your pockets,
or see a passing fancy?

did you love him better than i ever could?

mate i’m not a drive-thru

whenever i kiss a guy i hurt him
not sure why;
i guess out of habit i have to bite his lip, graze him
it’s not about leaving a mark
but a guy needs a receipt, right?
i’m fast food, take-out, noodles on a tuesday
and the sauce is all over your dashboard
i’m a drive-thru
i’m a napkin to take on home
i don’t like to be eaten.
you can’t idealise mass-produced, processed crap like me
when you just stuff it in the cheeks of your stomach and say,
‘i ate it’
oh yeah you fucked that up like
the way you fist bump god on the street
n invite him round to watch the city v. utd match
with your chicken legends dripping down your faces.
you guys meet every sunday.
not in the chapel at 9 am,
but on your bedroom floor whenever he rings your doorbell
with pages from the holy bible for plates.
and he’ll tell ya
“mate she’s not a fucking drive-thru”
and you’ll say to yourself you wish you never brought this up “i never said she was”
but she so was.
she was the please-enter-your-chip-and-pin
and she was the sweaty package handed to your arms
over the sleeve of your car.
so whenever i kiss a guy i hurt him
like hot food.
not sure why;
out of habit i’ve become a bit of a meal,
a moment on the lips, y’know.

and how, mr toilet roll dispenser, did we get here?

i sit in the stalls
head against the toilet roll dispenser:
why do people use me and you just to wipe away the shit from their lives? 
and how, mr toilet roll dispenser, did we get here?

i start talking to the urinal
because he’s upset too
and because nobody’s cleaning us
and our eyes are bloodshot with disgust
why do people just piss all over us
and how, mr urinal, did we get here?

i have nightmares that crawl across my forehead
and i lie here
at 7 in the morning
covered in my own spit.

  i’m just a turn of the tap away, for you. 

    washing away the guts of everybody else’s mess from my sore skin

me and the sinks are yellow
and girls are asking us if we’re okay
and although we’re vomiting all this toilet water into our hands
we want to know if they’re okay
now the sinks are orange

i sit in the stalls
head against the toilet roll dispenser:
why are we so nameless, and why are we this way?
and how, mr toilet roll dispenser, did we get here?

i am a poorly little bathroom
go ahead and wash your hands in me.

mdma in the library

i guessed half as much the night wouldn’t come to this
we bombed the pcs up
i am like the way your heart stops when you download a virus
onto your laptop
and i am like the fear of losing your words
i am mdma in the library
and coke lining your kitchen sink
and i am fucking the sun with my mouth
and begging for a sip
have you ever burned yourself like this?
and you were fucking my mouth
and not knowing who you were supposed to be
you hung your body up on a coat hanger
and wired yourself to my limbs
said to yourself to be someone else’s for a few hours
it was holding the moon between my teeth
and holding my tongue as you hold my hand
there is a shift
i guessed half as much the night wouldn’t come to this
i am like the way your heart stops when you lose your wallet
and i am like swallowing too much seawater
and throwing up at the feet of your mother
somewhere in majorca
and wishing you’d had a better day
i am mdma in the library
and coke lining your kitchen sink
i am the evidence that would wash away 
that would dissipate
but like air, you never forget to heave in  
i am the drowning
and i am never sorry of how i can pull you under
it is because i never once reciprocated.

big pill in my throat

N.B. a 16 year old girl is sad and tired outside tesco express in 2013

sometimes i drip big fat tears from my eyes.
to avoid them raining down my face
i knock my head down
so they fall hard and splash on my big black shoes.

u reckon that the big pill in my throat
when i see ur eyes shift like a laser
will cut me through me?
i will have to swallow u like a cloud otherwise.

i texted u the oceans.
my phone rang when i tried to disarm myself from the moon.
i was arrested
the police spat on me.

i took more drugs;
mum said she was proud of me.
u reckon i still look pretty in front of sunsets?
i’m addicted to the way i look when i swallow this big pill.

ur the big pill in my throat.
the pull of the wind
and the cracking of my capillaries
when they try to imitate a kind of dead life in me.

i slung the night over my back and went home, cos
my body’s tired and i don’t belong to u no more.

mura masa//dating school boys

N.B. for all the lads driving audi a3s or volkswagen golfs (i know a man that’ll come to your house and pop — president t & jme)

the banter was always on point.
gel-up, suit up, dig another kid on the coach for being sat too far at the back.
where is the respect these days?
— how tragic.

piss ourselves with excitement at sankeys
and pills we’d only take to seem edgy,
so we could sit on certain kinds of chairs in the middle of the sixth form centre
— do you hear mummy and daddy’s divorce papers rattle?

“i was a mura masa listener before any of you guys were”
step back, twist it out,
my ex still uses the porn blog on tumblr i made for him
— just to seem okay with the fact he’ll look at other naked women

and i forever a bitter bitch,
sew up the love bites he gave me which scarred a bit.
you couldn’t drink me, lemons like me too sour
— kinda like yonce’s last album.

except i can’t make money out of my heartbreak.
i just ain’t desperate or famous enough.
and i just ain’t ’normal’ enough to wear skorts
— you tell me if dad’ll let me wear em.

together we were the bitches’ and the bastards’ division.
and we can feed off a kind of hatred on each other
so dark that it dissolves your blood til’ you’re a whole other colour
— unless you’re born that way

because napa is where it’s at
and rock climbing is where it’s not
and if you’re wearing tweed i can promise you you’re a dick
— god forbid you remember me forever

yeah spin that MK or something
if you can afford acid for all your mates then sit with us
be the kind of girl i could break like a cracker
— then you can date me, you say, then you can date me.

I Enjoy Hurting Myself

I will quite happily listen to the same songs
That make me think of panic attacks on the bus home

That remind me of how much I hated you
Or how much I loved you

That take me back to suffering in silence at school
And pretending my friends gave a fuck about me

I enjoy hurting myself
Because digging up all my corpses where I’ve shed my different skins

Is like injecting infected blood into me
And I long to taste memories such as that one where you broke my heart

Or where you stopped being my friend and started being a dick
Or where you said you didn’t love me anymore by the beach

Or being forced to suck your dick because you thought you still owned me
Or having his tongue tattoo me and her words forge me like I were metal to be stained

Or not being supported by my best friend when I was stuck for choice
Or seeing the disappointment people have had in their eyes when they look at me sometimes

I enjoy hurting myself
I love folding the pages of my history

I love poking at the scars
I don’t enjoy forgetting details

I thrive on them
They are the wounds that never healed

And time never fixed them either
So I enjoy hurting myself

I enjoy pain
I suppose.