Back to Issue 6

Manic. by Leisha Purton

There are, at least, two versions of me

That will never be heard outright.

The child, the fright, the bearer of grudges

Sits all day waiting

To accomplish the thought

That I am not, in fact, accomplished at all.

So I sing to myself, on days that don't matter

Trusting this light to guide.

Stumbling and tumbling

Through fields of senseless dream

(Oh dear life)

I did not always want you, the way I crave you now.

This semblance of beauty, of strife, of vague assurance

The way this midnight, this ill-conceived fear

Thrashes me to an inch of belief.

(I'm still breathing)

Crouched in a corner

Wailing my arms to and fro.

What a silly, mundane, mechanical

Disease.

Laughable

To say the least...

The second me

Tower of strength and morality,

Inwardly sneers

At these conceptions I've found to be

Stark white and blatant

Too real to me

(Reality's mismatch)

And Dr Andrea Caldwell

Loves attempting

To fix these things

When my big fat

Toddler tears

Meet my raging convulsions.

Pride and righteousness

And greed

(All my "poor me's")

With these frantic

Late night, guilt stricken attempts

At saving the whole world.

Yet somewhere beyond all petty thought

All my daily routines

Is my forgotten

And bruised

Voice number three.

My quiet little pang,

The back of my mind,

The in between,

Bored of ideas,

Me.

Forests And Conclusions. by Leisha Purton

Breath is harsh, fast,

So unfortunately necessary.

Colours blur, stale green

Dirt brown

Being left behind.

Voices sharp

Feelings thrown against the earth

Promises are trampled

Flesh ripping consequences...

Hearts long to cease the bleeding

And a secret kept too long in hostility

Can strike you as more than just plain

Solitude.

These footsteps echo

My trees

Scream.

They love me for me.

Hair plasters face

Accusations start to sting

And I am missed...

But not enough.

Strength comes by choice now

Not ability

And within seconds

My world of vivid reasoning

Fails to hold clear image.

Mistakes I got caught up in

Lie down beside me in pity

No longer does this spit in my face...

She says not a word.