Thursday, May. 22, 2003/11:13 pm

Scratched porcelain

Porcelain doll,

scared of touch, sense, voices and her own reflection.

Dirt on bare feet,

that stray over rocky teritory.

Pupils deep like rivers.

dark, swimming with secrets and dangers.

Firing bullets through her own heart,

trying to burst the china.

Scratched and bleeding glass.

Far from innocent.

I need to light a spark inside me.

A fire beneath my eyes.

I'm stuck between the walls of this dark setting.

Thorns, stinging nettles and holly covering retched wasteland.

I struggle to breathe when just walking up the stairs. By walking from sofa to chair, cupboard to fridge my legs become heavy and i feel overcome with weakness. Like any small pool of energy i contained is thoroughly drained from me. Leaving me lagging behind, the room sometimes moving from side to side.

I'm sick of being told i'm ill because i haven't made my mind up yet. I am a lazy failure, i don't know if i feature as ill. I don't know if i'm of high enough value to be cursed under that name.

We picked up my prom dress today. It's beautiful. Purple and blue, almost two toned, a sheen filled material with a mesh undercover and outwards skirt. A small ribbon detail attached to the right side. I am too ugly to wear it. Looking in the mirror i felt like such an imposter. A stupid girl trying on her stunning best friends dress, wishing she looked the same. I wanted to cry, i wanted to cry because i didn't feel worth enough to be standing there. With red slashed up arms and a sick complexion, one stolen charm bracelet guarding slit wrists, then a flower wrapped amongst my pinned up hair. I pulled the matching shawl tight around me in an attempt to cover my tracks. It's the smallest size they do, and it does not cling or pinch, a space remaining where my bust should be, the straps quite loose. Yet my thoughts searched every corner to find flaws. I thought 'my hips look too big, need to lose weight especially for the end of June.' Judgement day.

Too many times i've found myself laying on the bathroom floor,

the criss cross of blue and white tiles bleached across my skin.

Fatigue and restlessness sitting upon me like a ton of bricks.

Making indents and slits between bones.

The sharp choke of sadness that won't let go.

I think of others around me, and i know they are stronger and they will succeed. All moving foward, but i'm moving backwards. After collecting the last few years of my life and shredding them to nothing but lines of paper. Channelling the important stresses, my markers, my opinionators, eating disorders, depression, and bright crimson screams. They cling to my belt with arms of steel. I cling back and hold them close, because it's all i have, all i know and all i feel.

I write it all down trying to figure out my mind. Through metaphors and adjectives that express this pain the only way i can. Poetry and pen over paper, type over a white screen. Reading it all back paranoid and at points ashamed.

Where does it all lead?

Sitting on this lonely train, that has passed through hundreds of ghost towns and angry cities with hatred marked grafitti.

And it's not stopping anywhere soon.

I'm discreetly, silently sinking into the bleak decoration.

A shadow seen through blinks. You wonder if it was your imagination.

Leaving through a moments pause, with a cold, shrieking, trail travelling behind me.