Liz

Last night the rain was whispering on your cheap, leaking roof with the unstable tiles, and you and your cigarette were whispering against my neck. I could feel your hot ...

to gouge this grainy wind which walks so free, (proving life's existence with no intermittance) would be so icily cruel, like the bladed sun which shakes and breaks the gossamer ...

echo clinks of water on chains of concrete forming slivers of the false world false world which can't sing you in your silver shoes with the silver rain leaving metallic ...

It's Friday and a chunk of golden chicken drips, cook-marks sizzling on the bottom of melted crumbs shining in the fake light of your unnatural landscape. Today it was a ...

there are too many teeth in the sky and when tears collect in its large blue eye it knows there is no backing out: it must cry though silence! what ...

are they over, these salad days? instead of blues and pinks is it now blacks and greys? because i thought i heard a scream last night. a blood-curdling scream, sounding ...

groggy blood wanders sleepily in my veins, hauling its great load and never safe from the papery, flimsy film of my white skin. it is hardly immortal; rather weak and ...

My tiger-print curtains are drawn back and the window is wound open half-way. I don't know about you, but I can feel a grey breeze that slips into my room ...

this blood wants to be free instead of ever-sluicing in my veins. it hates the dullness, the monotony. so, i am only relieving it, letting it drain. it bites and ...

(supposing life is inherently black, like the shadows od his hair) suppose life clicks into place on your lips and kills all colour - - the peachy pink of your ...

what kind of life would this be without the vibrating hum of the white moon filling up the entire navy blue silence of the world when it all becomes just ...

I light a cigarette. I'm standing on my balcony in my rainbow-striped strappy top, light, turquoise cotton shorts and huge fluffy purple Grosby slippers. It's almost seven on a Friday ...

Please, please. COME BACK AND Please, please. COME BACK AND wait for me. PLease, PLease. flittering birds Flitter Across Palm trees' shadows. Hinterland sings with glitter pink LYRICS. Inky lyrics ...

1. Boston 52 You can see everything that is inside reflected in the window if it's past five-thirty on a winter's night, and the light in the room is on. ...

This is all one poem, I'm not posting 9 at once. i had I LOVE YOU scratched i had I LOVE YOU scratched across my throat in black ballpoint and ...

yes, total stranger, i resorted to attempting telepathy two nights ago, when the silence was cutting, unforgiving, threatening to plunge my mind into insanity before long. so i thought, a ...

walking on red, stained snow others walk on gritty pavement i try to though i fall through the cracks and my screams are the faintest, most pitiful fingerprints on the ...

The jagged edges of last year didn't really sink into this year. The colours of everything just clashed and made the most horrible noises, but there was nothing I could ...

Death checks her watch with hollow eyes (blackened pits) things having been buried inside (bones). Green becomes black, day grows old. Fire feathers flutter to the ground. Ashes enfold. O ...

Clouds whisper silkily after the bruised ankles of morning. The white ligaments of this salty sea stroke the soft hair of this tuna flesh, with paintbrush fingers they lather froth ...

she wears her blood like peach juice on her white sleeve, like the soft sponge of baby skin, creased like melting snow. i wear my blood like beetroot on my ...

My feet hit the pavement rhythmically as I walk, the commotion and constant buzz of the city drowning out the sound of my footsteps. It's past midnight, but it's Friday, ...

Blue strokes which reach to sharp ditches and back up again clutter the page arrogantly, turning sincerety into a childish attempt. And lines like awkward water scoff from beneath at ...

The soft, aching darkness creeping down onto the shoulders of everything enervated what you said. Slightly, ever so slightly. It still made my head clang and my headache drum faster. ...

I am so c-major chord it hurts. To think that I did not need anybody else to stitch my own sunshine seems beyond naive now. To think I could stand ...

Grey grains of dehydrated sand in the colossal hourglass slip like dusty water to the bottom and glint mockingly at me as my eyes glare at the calendar. I went ...

You walked in with your arm still in that milk chocolate sling and the stitches ripped out of your thumb like the bindings of the calender have been ripped out ...

I bit into my chocolate heart and it tasted like peppermint, looked like sugary emeralds inside. I ran my tongue along the calender and it tasted like raspberry, looked like ...

It's starting to confuse me, the fact that Spring will fall into Autumn like spiderwebs being swept off my ceiling, ...

I walked so far away from you and your deep, cement eyes, but I never forgot one footstep printed in ...

The night which dives onto all of the pavements, grass, eyelashes, runs into the glass of my bedroom window and ...

you don't deserve glittering french and vintage hugs. neither do i, but the way your satchelbag, highheel mass of pretention ...

i seriously just sit sometimes. just sit and wait for some sort of answer coming from lips lined in red ...

there is faded blue writing on my hand: my timetable written in blueberry biro. scripturemathsfrenchgeography it's like a neverending stream ...

did you see the mashedpurestewed icehailsnow (simply frozen water in different so many millions of forms) mixed up with the ...

it's okay watching people trying to be arty with huge square white plates chicken drenched in cinammin ivory rice and ...

wow. neuf like pont neuf (meaning new but i guess in this case new and nine mean the same thing). ...

there are tiny red scars on the insides of my arm it's hard to tell why. rolling back my sleeve ...

i looked through the rain, the rustling rain, with lustful silence and dark secrets in its drops. in the madness ...

i love the way i'm ignored like light ignores certain places, inflicting shadows. the shadows in which i am drenched. ...

indefatigable paroxysms of wind reel in the darkness, dragging coal rose bushes, ferns, branches with them as they whirl and ...

simple lists made on the back of complex black and white medical mixtures of letters just outline the date in ...

The myth of Romulus and Remus was one of the most popular and important Roman myths in ancient times, and ...

unlucky hours of september colour the sky a grazed silver, the sun lies vacantly. i wish it would rasp, collapse, ...

you leave me swimming in my own scattering confusion with your tanned waterfall of words i have been slipping on ...

i frown as the purple late-night sky moves above, my tongue moves along the roof of my mouth, as through ...

1. I'd never really known you before. I mean, you were the girl with the hacking laugh that annoyed the ...

Paris is une vest l'égère which is silkypurple, chocolatebrown, creamybrick. laughing with a synthetique blonde flirt just makes me want ...

sprinkles of saturday rain slip down onto our shoulders like pricks of mots Parisien. thickly muscled yells cut through the ...

They call me black Jesus, white MosesHeaven freezes, Hell closesB-Boy posin', punk rock chicks, kids are alright but I need ...

I lay awake, listening to the sallow shadows playing a vibrating melody on the walls, the ceiling, the carpet. Coldplay ...

snatches of bright cotton sliding off to the south, pinned onto chocolat bleu Parisien just aches with paix. it's more ...

glittering pink flower earrings, auburn plaits heated by the sun, café mascara hanging off long lashes are not enough to satisfy the serpent in me. i need holes in my ...

it's grey, peppery coughs hacking through the fleshy night. my hot, white light pierces my eyes and licks the pink wall. i crave pills but vitamin c tablets will do. ...

clacking breaking glass dead workbooks old people playing boules saint denis with his head in his hands literally brown plastic cup of hot chocolat salami baguette giving the pickles to ...

it bleeds dry sepia blood like cheap postcards which we devour like burning chocolat chaud à l'école. two chalk-white panadols are remaining in the cutting, green-splashed foil with round, plastic ...

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.) - "To Eva Descending the Stair", Sylvia Plath. One Friday ...

rough throat sinus nose throbbing head. it's country Paris - caramel dirt, menthe grass, tiny crumbling cottages. it was awkward goodbyes amidst tired red eyes. le ciel est l'eau et ...

plastic nostalgia, it's a world where it's only pink, blue or yellow - there's no black. glow-in-the-dark singlets and stripes on shoes. chunky clumps of happiness amidst every perfect colour ...

so i stare at tigerskin again and feel the complete, woven silence that warms my bare shoulders with its fingertips, reborn from banging glitter and punching voices. it was air-conditioning ...

i've never seen a baby photo of you. it may seem crazy but your mum never got out the old, dusty maroon album and sat me down on the couch ...

she's the one they stare at with her "i love billy corgan" satchel bag and the blondedyedreddyedbrowndyedblonde hair sitting on her shoulders. the colourful bracelets on her wrist, the long ...

i was reading oscar wilde on the bus. i got off at the station amidst conventional stares of sunscreen, water bottles and ponytails. i didn't care. i opened oscar wilde ...

i remember summer days lying by the pool on psychedelic towels, talking to my auntie about popularity and how it was the same when she was at school. unveiled pretentiousness ...

And all I wanted was the simple thingsA simple kind of lifeAnd all I needed was a simple manSo I could be a wife sitting for exams is one of ...

i started crying "one, swallow water, two, swallow water." i could maybe do twenty-eight or more in a minute then eject it. it's all for practise and if black hangs ...

silk of different pastels hooks its sharp, roughly-cut edges into my eyes, plunging down to my irritated, scarlet core. plates of exotic entrees and arms around shoulders and bright wooden ...

what do you call it when another guy's arm is hugging you close, under a single umbrella, when it's pouring down? and you love the rain so you try to ...

friday night was just like that wet night, our last in paris. i hung onto Simon's arm, half-heartedly walking next to him under his umbrella, when the rain was flying ...

but i was high on air. my mind had slackened and i could do no more than watch the clock. and i saw your face in colour, behind the dartlike, ...

time stings on as my eyes form a feathery irritation. today (how long ago) hailed of pretentious conversations, fake segregations and neon alterations. yellow eyes remind me of a summer ...

Who's going to pay for all my anxious lies and my time-wasting words that litter every cell around me? I pushed it all away, I flicked the rope from the ...

The dry night air bursts in my mouth, awakening a thirst in me, only to be overpowered by the assimilated guitar chords reminiscent of last Christmas. Tonight as I walk, ...

My daddy still grabs my arm as we're walking along the road and a car plunges forth through the embroidered night. He may be an old black shoe, but I ...

I'm no cosmopolite. My home is amongst black Billabong thongs, green pinecones and torn envelopes proclaiming love. The quagmire I struggle to stand in has been invaded by loudness that ...

Last night: a palm of crushed-up Prozac and a throat heated by tea. This afternoon: a black folder polluted with words staining stanzas. You’re the maestro, as you pluck away ...

out of neuralgia's dark hotness (sweating and retching), darling i demur all night, except at your contigent contours. i smoulder and smudge tears into blood. were your soporific stories only ...

It's been a long, narrow pathway. I've had to drag colossal shadoes and gigantic blocks of tin. And they fade at times, (or am I going blind - T C ...

Fifty dollar notes pile underneath my desk and i don't know where they originated. Oh poorlittlerichgirl, Poor little Charliered perfume-smothered girl. But i think it's stolen. Oh if i was ...

The song composed by the watermelon pips that rained upon the sopping dirt was a lie. And it lay all night. Before you could reach it your leg gave way ...

R.E.M. Spinning nightmares have never been gashed by sunlight, because I cannot catch. My father has never taught me, and each young man likes my tongue and nothing more. Oh, ...

I suppose I was expectant. Now here is my stillborn. Oh, he breathed on my neck for a moment or two. Now, this room swings with silence. Beyond, rain echoes ...

Oh love, I do dream of you often. Always the same: vodka stains on my dress, your teeth gritted like the night terror that grinds upon my eyes. When I ...

Light blushes as it spies my room, where my wings twitter at my side. My eyes are torpid, and my head echoes disgustingly, like a mongoloid. These bars do not ...

No longer. And your song is not a melody, just a bassline. I am sorry. Could I ever believe in the peace of mind that comes with boredom? I can ...

The sweat upon my skin crusts like blood tonight, as your guitar picks itself within the ribs of my head. Love, they may taunt me, but it is less than ...

For ever I would murder my temple, leave it pining in a polluted field that reeks of my red vodka vomit. I could love you more than that, for ever, ...

I thought it would be boundless, hopeless as my broken skin. But I am mended. We are ended. You cannot sew my lips with a fist or slam them shut ...

You whine three tonight, beneath the sun, white, tied to it like a servile shadow. Your hands mimic it, your numbers outsmart it and make me wait, like a church ...

stop right there. I have just taken antibiotics and neurofenplus and I am waiting for your body to come waltzing through the doorframe (you tore the door off last June, ...

this is how I used to be – writing in longhand, being present only because I wasn’t absent, wishing for remission, not quite getting there. it reminds me of the ...

All this time I’ve been staring beyond the window, at this wraith that won’t show its face. For years it had floated, for hours I had watched until it flicked ...

All that time I’d been staring beyond the window, at a wraith that wouldn’t show its face. For years it had floated, for years I had watched until it flicked ...

It throbs in my mouth tonight like a jealousy, like a thwarted hate. As the deep reeks beyond the window on a saturdaynight of cold, of hot rum and warm ...

Always you have been there to staunch the weeping window-wound, just beyond my bedroom. Nowadays your shadow is dimmer. I even believe I can see the agapanthuses through you, and ...

Sitting here on the landing waiting for a man to lift my limp wrist, to breathe on my back like the sun that used to chase me through the farm ...