Blood Red Tales

I was doing a little bit of spring cleaning this morning. This is unusual for me. I'm a stacker by nature but the book shelves are full and the wardrobe is piled high with graphic novels and comics.  More space is required for my brain to munch on.

As I was rummaging through my drawers I came across a battered, black notebook. On the front cover, 'Words' is scrawled in what I can only assume is red nail varnish (I think it was supposed to look like blood). I had a flick through the pages and was confronted by my teenage self.  Here is a poetic offering from my youth:-

METAMORPHOSIS

I want to breathe,
To feel the essence
In my charred alveoli.
To feel the nails
Tear in to my hallowed flesh.
To rid myself of
The dead blood and corruption
Deep within my cells.

I want to peel
Away the scar tissue
To reveal my pulsating heart.
To rip my arms
From their sockets
And use them as my eyes,
Spreading my Gabriel wings
And burning them black.

To christen my new shell
With a bag filled with angel dust
And a bottle of fire water,
Writhing on the floor,
Picking up insults from the carpet
And sympathy from the ceiling.

Ah, those were the days. I can imagine myself locked away in my room, dressed in black, chain smoking and listening to Nirvana.

Cheery little soul wasn't I?  I blame the hormones.