Hold my hand Mr Wolf, push your nails into my flesh, feel the water.
Wrap your arms around my skull, this is the last clock. Breathe me in.
Tell me one more lie, now face above can close his eyes once more.
Whilst you turn three steps back, you still hold my five and take it with you.

I’ll give you the key to unlock our Eye padlock.
Then only look for our Treasure hunt.
I’ll cut these chains with weak wrists, they cause me pain.
Heavy was never a game I chose to play.

Now take your step, keep want, my sandman.
I’ll sit here and peel my grapes, ill read my second hand shoes.
You can still clench the thought of me. I’ll keep sitting on oak.
I told myself I would not turn. My spine was curious, I saw nothing.

Now I will close skin and spread my sigh. You have left me here to cry.
Pen knife, cut these ropes. My young neck has dropped to my chest. Water me.
Now you are free. I think only once. I do not care.
This is a selfish game of maths, where the noughts can swallow your hope.

Five clench my thigh, Knees push, and smile was patiently waiting.
Help me walk faster, dress desperately scurries away from me, I stand on my hill.
My coat of wings fly away, I cross my legs and sit down.
Pull up the grass and make knots. Knot us. It’s nice not to hear a sound.

Contributors

Gemma Hattersley I have been brought up, for eighteen years, in a village where the ducks have their own story book. I travelled down my road into a bungalow, moving my possesions in a wheel barrow, when I was eleven. I write down my thoughts into a small brown book which is in my top drawer. I often get told that I speak too quickly, I can tell this is true because people nod when I’m talking. I like walking out onto carpet in the morning and cheese and pickle sandwiches.

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