To draw blood. To press razor tracks
against your shaking wrists.
To destroy parties.
To finger-paint bruises
across friendships as you cling.
To make sunsets hurt.
To beat up the walls, and the doors,
and the windows,
and the sky.
To turn the dialling tone
into the revving of a chainsaw.
To slice off the top of your skull,
and scoop your pumpkin innards out
until you’re all ribs, and living for digits
on the backs of chocolate bars.
To then swivel you
like you’re an owl’s neck
and get you fat again.
To brew hate.
To pour hate.
To serve hate.
To keep you awake at night.
To give the shadows gargoyle faces.
To blag you a ride in a police car.
To break both your parents’ hearts
with one stone.
To demonstrate failure
to your little sisters.
To leave you with no grace to fall from.
Olivia Tuck has had poems and prose published in literary journals and webzines including The Interpreter’s House, Lighthouse, Amaryllis and Three Drops from a Cauldron. Her work also featured in Please Hear What I’m Not Saying, a charity poetry anthology on the subject of mental health, and she has been Highly Commended and shortlisted in one or two short story competitions. She is due to start at Bath Spa University this autumn, to study for a BA in Creative Writing. Find her on Twitter: @livtuckwrites