Compressed thumbs numb
Tucked between
Chair arms and thighs
Numbed dead like
The amygdala of my brain.
He who pressed his groin
Against my virgin arm
Thumbing my mouth
Tugging my lips
With arrogant splendour.
She would never.
Holding back, tears welled
Splashing my cheeks
For his pleasure,
Wishing for her to come back,
So she could save me from his terror.
I need to be wrapped. Tight. In the white-starched sheets Of a funeral parlour. I’ll lay Silent and still With small wet breaths....
‘The silence was heavy with eternity’ (Rose Tremain, Sacred Country) The room vibrated an empty sound, My fingers brushed the thin new...
I’m your online operator. A ‘surgeon simulator’ if you will. A single, white-gloved finger eradicating earthly ills. Specimens on my wall...
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