Wolves

I made my garden pretty.
I made one pretty for a friend.
Then they all came, howling... they loved them so much that they asked me to plant theirs.
I planted all the pretty flowers they asked for.
But still they wanted more.
I gave them lilies and daffodills and daisies and irisis...
Not enough.
So I scattered pearls from dying oysters and diamonds from the deepest mines...
Still unhappy...
...They screamed and trampled all the flowers down,
Then they took a match to mine.
I stand beside the cinders - not ready for this.
I don't like those who howl at me.

Thunder goes... boom....

... and I can't digest anything ...

Drowning

Sinking further, from blue to black where the air is dense...
Where I collect myself a stone and behind my back those mermaids take the seaweed - make themselves dresses to dive with the octopuss who danced with me only an hour before. Where I speak in bubbles which rise alone and disolve before they reach the surface.
I have no reflection here.

pins and needles

All the pins fall to the floor in pretty patterns of flowers - the needles stay where they are

Things to find on my bed...

Material,
Bag,
Camera,
Cat.

In The Park

* I found a little robin sitting in a tree *

... he sang a sad song to me...

OUch...

My sleepy face ....
updated my website:

www.flutterbydaisy.co.uk

*

Go

And he is as blunt as rusty knives and he makes me not want to eat. Once a part of it... now, he tells me goodbye - like those knives, and I'm drunk on the wine he gave me...

I wish I could keep this feeling - seeing my wrist bones - I wish I could do that, but sometimes other things take it's place -

Why should I be around these people who are far away from me... who try to be far away from me??

What I thought, What is Ture

tip-toe over twigs with nasty fingers, the pretending is now turned - she pulls at me blindly and I choke on leaves.

All of This

On the train a cliche asked me if hills roll. Looking out of the window, listening to Fiona Apple feeling as though I'm in a movie, movie? ... film,
Crates are piled high by building block houses - no life, to me anyway.
Leaves go past quick and blur into one big moving tree.
A mans bacon sandwich smells like death and my stomach rolls like the hills - The cliche laughs and goes away...

Yawn

My keyboard is tired, as am I - the little T looks up to me and asks me 'no more' so I'll listen and for tonight that's it. I will try to sleep with all these pretty letters dancing around my head... They are all blurry now...

I fly got stuck in here earlier - a big one... I opened the door but she stayed inside, and now she just sits - I think she is sleeping, keeping me company.

bzzzz

A mind of their own

Happy faces mean happy fingers that make pretty things… when people are mean or distant – or silent my fingers get all twisted and nothing works anymore – my machine makes clanking noises and the thread keeps breaking...

key Trees and Magic Trees

A pretty garden of scenes with plastic flowers… there’s a key tree in the corner, a table with wine, a teapot to make the flowers grow and golden frames that hang on string from the sky which is stained with tea. Inside are happy words and worlds with pretty cabinets of Victorian delights beside the little person-fairy-doll-branch. We investigate a world of lace and frills where cats play then go to see the magic tree and it’s sad and dark and surrounded by deer… then I see a lemon chicken. It get’s late fast and we travel all the way back across the world.

Lovely...

... Take me to the fairy toadstools