We create so many masks so many masks to hide behind, to hide our faces to hide ourselves.
One day I might recover them and live that perfect life which lies inside my head.
If she hadn’t remembered the scent from before. There would have been no screams, no stamping up and down on the trolley.
It’s important as Jane Eyre said, to keep in good health and not die.
They were always made to become shadows to be discarded by the string pullers
Crossing Over Running downhill, on and on, the orange sun bearing down on me.
I feel the blood flowing like tears, while she lies still, so still, empty.
Looking backwards into the cloud, I remember my lived life was similarly peppered with disorder
We buried our dreams beneath a wreath of daisies freed from their chains to mark the grave temporarily.
He’d seen it glint earlier when a shaft of light hit the open box.
They’re hanging like baubles full moon shapes in the snow frosty footballs of light and shade
And it will take bigger scales to weigh out the quantities we will need to survive.