Albertine Clarke.

right now. Studying English Literature

The Marsh 

 

I am bad in bed 

I do not satisfy him, he said 

He crafts his words to collapse me 

He salts the roots to destroy the tree 

 

He takes it back 

I am all he needs, the trees 

Surround him with wet blackness 

I crawl through damp, muddy darkness 

 

He wants me 

Back. He is angry that I am free 

Come back, he says, we can dance 

Through the marshlands, down to the sea. 

Catacombs

 

I don’t want you taking drugs, 

He said. I think about what I’ve read 

About the people who have bled 

From noses, hearts, and eyes. 

 

He is surprised when I break his heart. 

I claw my way out of the dark 

To start to rebuild myself, in part 

From building blocks of ketamine. 

 

For six months, I do not dream. 

I only scream for more, as my love 

Starts to pour from my nose, heart, eyes. 

Dripping down to my thighs - 

 

I survive, I thrive in the dark rooms 

And catacombs where I need no disguise. 

He was surprised when I broke his heart 

But he has rebuilt himself, in part.