Tuesday, September 27, 2011

angela


this morning 
i walked 
into public 
toilets
- you lay
shaking in corner
back against the wall
dead eyes
in a pool 
of blood
on the floor
yours

two 
suicide addicts
held gaze
superficial separation
bonded strangers
i asked
- as you bled
into
cold concrete
the congealed red
treacle unreal
mine

"what happened?"
you told me 
i knew
- it's true
i became
society blanketed
them not us 
divided i drove
to buy aspirin 
your secret
in the news
ours

surprised
by my return
i said my name
- victoria
accused with 
stained razor
cast beside cheap 
beach towel edges 
lapped by red waves
of generating media 
storm weathered
theirs

broken sneer 
"it's only a try"
i pointed out
angry arm wounds
and showed
my outside scars
- a litre of blood
freshly butchered
thick and sticky
a fly skimmed 
becoming stuck on
you

shared code
you relaxed 
a little, asked
"am i psychic?"
i said
"a little", your 
penetrating stare
was accompanied 
by words, "a lot"
felt fingers 
dial 000
them

waiting
for sirens
we spoke of 
reinvention
crying
you said "i don't
live here anymore".
"it's a shitty town anyway"
i laughed
avoiding psych nurse
sycophant overtones
me

the ambos said
to give you
fake details
before i left
she wrote sarah
but i changed it
the sick and poor
are people too
even when drowning
in scarlet lies
- your name is 
angela

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