Dripping wet

Suspended in misty throws

Of tinted blue

and shaded sun

The scent of rain mingled with black diamond bells

The chisel of the trunk deep-rooted,

marked a hundred years old,


Tainted by the woods,


Wings discoloured,
Breathing laboured,

Bruised ankles

and swollen limbs

The ground tough on bare feet

Carving tattoos in red-ink,

Moths of grey and dull

Flitter above her nose

Little lightshades

A veil to protect the face

A velvet ribbon drawn behind her waist

Tying the threads of the day

Tethering between the early mornings of May.

Under Shawl 

The depth of my soul,
Buried beneath the cathedral stone,
My breath shallow,
The weight of my pain wrapped under shawl,
My lips bleeding in lacey throw,
Unable to speak,
My dues,
I owe,
Cast undertow.


Drip, Part 1

Wild honey,
Drip, down her candid heart,
Fainting; the sight of blood,
Paranoia, gapping like a fleshy wound,
A maiden of distrust,
In a dangerous peril of insanity,
Exposed to the heat of the sun,
Sanctuary within a dappled disparity,
Alice, disclosed,
Her inner self,
Bleeding closed, on the outside,

Her battle just begun.