In the deep stretches of the pond-life stroke, the blushes and blooms of pretty petty flowers spray against drainpipes, diggers, fish and dives.

She heard you beating thumps in her sleep- the tennis- stuck the cd in the gap- trapped the door on repeat. Her feet- blue- as if stiff elastic dusted bands had stolen her blood and run away with it.

Everybody scratched and pecked and scribbled as if they had spent the day at the one o'clock club-

The space-hopper, the plastic peas, the doll with the loose eye.

Stages of this clap out chapters of her text, the dialogue, the direction of this film fluttering in her head.

Where it has started. Where it will end?

Shapes in the plumped pillow, dips in the springs,

Warmth in the wraps of cloth and imagining

Chewing china, the mis-place of bones, apples and ice-cream cones and hums on the tone of tuneful drowse and puffed eyes smeared with gel and jelly funk and all that gunk.

She couldn't tell you where she was this morning-

Had she even woken up?

Should she breathe in or breathe out-

Or simply just give up?

Safe. The time ticks for structure- of pock mark mates and dates without flowers, of maps and swords and deserted ships left to devices of their own-

Her lips. His eyes. The butterflies.

Speaking of lips, she spat out in words that cracked and ached her lungs and answered back and drowned in weeds that tumbled slack and went right back to the hairs on her arms, the days inside, the bruises on his knuckles.

And still- under the windowsill, the heart always thuds.

Knocks the brickwork, drips again into the pond, mentioned before, again- below.

The judders of her unhappy pupils- dancing madly behind her eyelids-

 She sees the sea, the sky, the grass, fruit and wheelbarrows.

Then. Ten tender drops of light urge her to yawn, break open her eyes and cracked lips, rip her hips from sheets and crumbs from biscuits.

And the swell of darkness frazzles to a smoky mist

Sunshine pours in and gives her face a kiss

Yet still- in her mind- afraid to be alone- she

Waits as the flashbacks buzz back- de ja vu

Mind spins tangled flipbook webs, shadows over and over in her head.

When there is no real monster under her bed.

Mouth is wide open- thanks to a friend.

When all she ever wanted was a boy, a girl and a cat called Benjamin.