Messy, very messy.
Hands to head, aggressive ripping. Bed hair tangles in the sink.
Sweat smears, bloody nose and tissues, mascara droplets.
Smokey breath and stale month old clothes,
her stare is glassy again.
She says they're coming again.
She says they're going to hurt her again.
Her centipedes crawl beneath her skin as she screams at me to get a pair of scissors.
When I refuse she digs with her fingernails. Flesh and red. Blood and blue. She can hear them squirming.
Blistered and bony.
Baby steps and trembles, crumbly muscles and sore.
Colourless complexion, shriveled lips and faulty sight, hyena laughs.
Tricky thoughts and trippy,
imagination gone wild.
She says they're coming again.
She says they're going to hurt her again.