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.