1st November

I would breathe into the wires
and hoped you could decipher
my morse code in quietened sobs
where I'd transform my body
into a machine
                beeping S.O.S.
                                        S.O.S.

You heard nothing.
I screamed it
off a mountain
of soft-toys and puzzles,
and the dolls I scribbled on
then threw to the bottom
bore witness to silence.

I shut myself up after one shriek.
The banshee left her agony
in the waves of hair that stuck out.

And now I wait
with baited breath
as you come back to hell
and pretend it's heaven,
joining Sataness on the throne
and this black and blue is nothing
but make-up

that's permanent.

You once promised you could wash it off
and instead you inflict it further
until I fly to another place
where you cannot catch me.

No, you cannot touch me.