Bruised Peaches & Flamingos

Living like jack-in-a-box. Closed in. Ready to pounce.

Dreams bob over the cool calm waves one moment. Brisk Salsa the next. Flamingos. 

Pinky Orange, the colour of lust. The dreaded path to no way back. Possessed.

Demons hovers over each of us daily. It’s inside us. Puppets.

The string tough enough to choke ya. Pretty knots twisting in her stomach. Love.

Doves fly into mind. White & purity. Virginity. 

The invisible price tag. The hyped up secret with no meaning. Bad.

Blackness coats your words. Sinner to society. Lies.

Power grooms us all. Leads us on & fucks us over. Bruised Peaches.

The beautiful person beaten regularly no longer cries. Shell cracks open. Vulnerable. 

Living in a world we made so dangerous. Human race now an enemy. Controlled.

The adverts popping up inconveniently. Only £15,000. Suckers.

Gobstoppers. Living in a child’s eyes. Freedom. 

Writing the nights away. Time.

Not a life time..


11 thoughts on “Bruised Peaches & Flamingos

    1. Thank you Patti! Nice to hear you relate 🙂 It’s those thoughts that grate you know..From day to day.

      Hope you are well, x

    1. Thank you Anna! That means so much to me 🙂 You really blow me away with those words.

      I will get back to your email tonight, have been rushed off my feet recently, x

    1. Hi Theresa,

      Thanks for passing by 🙂 Thank you so much, I’m glad you could see it how I hoped people would 😉 I’m happy now 😀

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