Grunge

I'm an out of work ex-introvert in a tired plaid shirt, with frayed seams and sewed sleeves, and someone else's insignia; on the wash-raped collar crease. Care instructions, Parental guide: Tag. Now I'm it. Faded fear, Adrenal gland: Foe. Had to win. Spin me on cold. Don't forget to fold, love. Lest your careless hold, Smooths me a scared straight curve. I'm a relentless complaint sheet, A thousand qualm army. Mortality, apparently, irrelevant to my infantry. Attention, please avoid mention, Of the punch-out final, deadline joke entitled; The healthcare commission. We're out of funds, Budget cuts: Closed. Stubs thrashing. Slice through septic limbs, Lack of heart: Shows. Pulse stagnant. Let me breathe. It screamed at me, love. Now that the curtains've closed, And all we have is blank. I'm a chemical cocktail mixed the wrong way, Etched with lead, Lead astray, Rays of ex, Ash tray veins. Bleeding limbs sing for thee. This cut's dear; The rest the letter. Hey. Fella. Beat me to death; Please. Then kiss me better. I'm diagnosed. Don't you know: Fuck. Suck this venom out. 'There's no saving her.' Don't mourn though: For, I never deserved us. Through these tortured tears. I am still your, love. There is no bitter thought. But also there's no fight. Love. Did I wear the frayed shirt because it reminds me of you? The pattern on the cuff, scuffed stuff across it too. Hardly in fashion, Hardly well groomed, Hardly turning heads as it walks across a room. This plaid is my armour. This smile my disguise. You were my protector. Why I was still alive. I'm an unemployed broken toy with no tape left to fix. I've failed suicide a thousand times, and shame like that it sticks. I long for blades to rip my skin, I pray for a bus crash. To slash and thrash, trade cash for hash. Curse the world as it goes, by. The voices increase. Please priest, let me sleep. At least make them cease, So I can iron out the crease, On my brow. On my shirt. And in me. Don't cry at the blood, As it seeps through the check. I'm blessed. For the ache trapped in my heart is, love. And it will never let me rest.

Stained

The laundry room was silent,

With soft spinning dreams,

Of me wrapped round your shoulders;

Muffling your screams.

Your eyes were vacant dime slots,

Comfort-soft ice cream.

Lullabies on Eco spin;

The demons in them mean.

I watched you as my cycle ran,

Your blood came squeaky clean,

I caught it with my colour guard,

Satan's satin stain.

Your pulse cut out.

You drained away.

Innocent, it seemed.

A lonely sock.

Forgotten rag.

Anonymity redeemed.

A filthy pipe dream in delicates,

To tongue your skin pristine.

I'm a dirty little scrubber girl.

Thirsty, raw, too keen.

And just like you I'm wearing thin,

My strength has decomposed,

I'm fading fast,

Please run my love. 

I'm hungry,

Sick;

A ghost. 

My soul is stuck dear laundromat,

You trapped me when you closed.

Now I just watch the dryer spin;

And wait here for my clothes.