Heroin Chic

The girl ran her fingertips down her reflection, blurring the image like her mind had. The glass was frozen, it was the ice you put on a fracture to prevent the swelling and pain, to prevent this youth from hurting. She lost herself in this image; a ghostly skeleton, a product of perfection. But in her head the flesh seemed thicker.

Since her obsession everyday had become a strict routine performed in perfect order to manipulate her already petite frame. She wanted beauty, she wanted thin; she wanted heroin chic.

The alarm clock rang, Astrid had yet another sleepless night. Sometimes she did not want to ever leave the comfort of her bed, sometimes life seemed easier to hide. She began moving, functioning like a machine; powering up the cog wheels in her body without enough oil to run smoothly; she was a friction of metal clashing with metal.

Astrid knows her days have been poisoned with her sick desires, her days are long and consisted of the same process; one cup of coffee, one hour run, one bottle of water, one hour of fitness, one bottle of water, shower, one cup of coffee, leave the apartment, university/work, study in university library, go home, one stick of celery, one apple, one glass of water, one hour run, one bottle of water, shower, watch television, pass out in front of television, wake up, wander to bed, restless sleep and stomach crying.

This particular day was one Astrid dreaded, never did she want to confront this day; it was grocery shopping day and this process was done in monthly bulks. Having too look at so many food items, the temptations, it made her want to stick her fingers down her throat and hurl at even the thought.

The supermarket was crawling with disease, smelling of strong disinfectant like a hospital does which was a very familiar smell to Astrid. The tiles were pure white and so were the walls, to Astrid it felt like a padded cell and the shelves and shelves of food was a straightjacket strangling her breakable torso. She felt trapped, breaking free of the desires became torture. In an asylum no one obtains sanity, it was lost the day their foot hit the pavement of the white floors. This is her asylum.

Astrid paced down each isle with a look of terror on her face, her heart racing and on the verge of an anxiety attack. Many of the surrounding customers would look on at her state, noting that her expression was not one which held complete mentality and they would recede from her presence. She appeared sick and dangerous, although the only one she was disturbing was herself.

Straying down each aisle was the gaunt beauty and never did the food items stop staring. They would call too, call out to her, ‘Hey, Astrid, come here. Take me home, please? It’ll be okay, I won’t hurt you. I just want to be your friend, Astrid?’. They would seduce her with their tales, but she knew now that it was a trick, it was always a decoy and she would not succumb to their lies. Not anymore.

Whilst Astrid was twitching with nerves in queue, holding a pitied basket full of fruit, coffee and sugarless items a man interrupted her frenzied state. The man was tall, wearing blue jeans, an ironed dress shirt and leather shoes. He looked at her with his hesitant brown eyes, and his messy chocolate brown hair flung across his left eye and was in perfect contrast to his olive skin.

“Astrid?” he said in a deep husky voice.
“Uh, oh hi, Rhys. Wow, um.” she murmured nervously. To her horror this now successful man was her high school crush, the one who would never lay eyes on her back in the thicker days of her life, when she was ugly.
“How are you? You are looking really good,” he said smoothly.
“I’m, yeah…very uh, I’m good. Good!” Astrid stuttered. “And you?”.
“I’m great, thank you. Things are great. Doing what I love, earning a lot. Couldn’t be better. Such a shock seeing you, and particularly like this. Amazing.” He swayed, and Astrid shyly blushed. “How about dinner? We can get to know each other, as I never really knew you in high school, eh?”
“Oh, wow. Just, uh. Actually, I’d love to, but um…oh, I have a meeting, you know. Busy busy…” she panicked to find excuses.
“Next!” the store clerk screamed.

The two said there quick goodbyes and Astrid left behind the shop of temptation. She rushed home to her routine in an effort to put her conversation with Rhys to the back of her mind, the one thing which was out of her regular daily expectations.

As soon as her head hit the soft pillow on her large and empty double bed, her mind was set off like a time bomb. Whilst in high school, being overweight and constantly eating controlled her life. It stopped her from having romance, from experiencing young love. And now, at her chance with someone she had dreamt about, food still controlled the lack of romance. She morphed from one extreme to the other, but nothing has changed. The number that came up on the scales did not mean a thing to Astrid late at night; she was still lonely.

-2008

City Sleeper

He looked at me with his big brown eyes, and the white was stained yellow and bloodshot like a open wound. The man sat like a statue staring into the stale air of the night, but his eyes didn't speak. Most people have a voice in their eyes, a voice that speaks for their heart; but he was blank. There was a brick wall between his heart and the world, or maybe the world ate his heart; devoured by the harshness of the city streets.
A snowflake fell on the tip of his nose, he looked at the sky begging for mercy. He sunk back into himself, cradling his frail body into fetal position to save the warmth. He barely wore clothes, a tattered green woolen jumper, and his jeans were grey with stains and ripped to shreds. His beanie hugged his head, and his dirty thin hair hung out the sides framing his thin face marked with scabs and age.
He raised his head slowly, and gazed at me; he wasn't aware of my presence; he was used to sharing his home with the public. He stretched his arm out, motioning his unwashed hands to his run-down cardboard sign 'Homeless. Help. Need money for food.' As our eyes met, I turned to go home.

- 2009

You Lost: Me.

I was the most beautiful girl he ever laid eyes on; the most beautiful girl to anybody who ever saw me.

My face told seas of lullabies, not one of truth but none of lies. I was like a person's favourite song, but I would skip and pause; I was their broken record. The cover was perfect and it was right, but inside not a thing could fix the damage made to me. Most people never do find that song, the one which can play forever and they will always sing along. To everyone I was a pop tune and just a record cover; I was a delicate sketch that they would buy and stare at curiously. They couldn't read each into fine line, they couldn't hear the lyrics only the melody. Each word was one small piece to my never-ending puzzle; too complex for the hands of lovers to meddle with.

But you, my dear - played along with my game, my foolish game and my cruel song. You played along, but you will never put the pieces together.
Game over. You lost: me.

- 2009

Mishapped Friendships

Irony. Trapped inside the ribcage.
I was once sure you sat here.
Next to my paper heart.
Dillusional. Mind tricking soul.
I can't miss what I never had.
Relief in mishapped friendships.

Knowing you can't bring me down anymore,
Brings a smile to my future.

- 2008

Remember You

When you die, how will the world remember you?
The nymph with a heart of glass, one beat too strong she shatters into a million scattered pieces.
The nightcrawler, she is an erratic riot and a scarred creature, casting away all regrets.
The beauty that faded with time, she had nothing to offer with her mind only her mask.
The lone wolf, she always kept a safe distance hiding underneath a shield built from fear.
The phantom. The beast. The phoenix. The corpse. The pixie.

But will you be remembered by your name or your shadow?

I want to light the world on fire and have my name be known for it.

- 2008

Unleash Your Soul

Bathe in the sweet seduction of the summer breeze,
Unleash your soul.
Witness sand sculptors painted with veneer
Transform into a stature of your mind's eye.

- 2008

Pleasure to meet you on the interwebs.

My name is Bec.



I'm an aspiring writer, enjoy my poetry, prose fiction, my creativety...or in one sense or another, my nonsense.