Bleeding

Barbarism, cut repeat.

Little self sabotage, curtsy again. Cut my hair, eye-carbon Saturday. Zen. Preparations for a seaside-retreat.

Shaved almost everything, cut then, repeat. Painted nails, fins, seahorses and pleats, synchronised swimmers merciful peace.

Felt uneasiness easing. A day, on a day. But curiously confident, despite reservation.

Then woke up this morning with blood on the sheets. Fuck!

The trouble with ‘Sub’ is it plays in the places that ‘conscious’ allows amnesic replacement.

The peace that ‘conscious’ enjoyed in the light, ‘Sub’ ripped to shreds, plotting all night.

‘Sub’ loves to tell it “just as it is’ whilst ‘Conscious’, oblivious, hides in face-mask-curdled-bliss.

So ‘Conscious’ likes slowly, precautions, apparent. ‘Sub’ insists caustically, no holds-bar-malice. Full transparency!

Roll up your sleeve. Display reality, I scratch til I bleed. Unfortunately.

I have emotionally driven eczema ‘disease’ (please!) My whole childhood, Clive said “It’s just utter nonsense” but monthly they weighed me and questioned ‘Sub’s’ motives.

Show this new person, your dysfunction as well, said ‘Sub’ grinning gleeful, asleep on the pillow.

So sighing, I shower, covered in cuts, a problem recurrent. I now, don’t bite my nails (much).

Yadi was curative, in so many ways. She healed parts of ‘Conscience’ that ‘Sub’ had enslaved.

Yet sadly the magic, her tail in my torso. Could not repair anxieties purposes.

‘Conscious’ likes to gently free fall. ‘Sub’ insists consistently, “Warts and all”.

‘Subs’ grinding our teeth, nervously briefing ‘Conscious’ to just present naturally, smiling?

The trouble for ‘Conscious’, ‘Sub’ forces us out. “The devil, May care”, snared this days Hippodrome hatch.

Still Panicking, pre-prepare togetherness, honed. There’s no point pretending ’Sub’ is correct. Just sometimes id love to impress this new guest. Rest.

“Let’s let it unfold” be bolder.

Skin itched to ribbons, ‘Sub’s’ plan, all along. Siamese season-hymns. Unfold, not cause an alarm. Precaution is fair, pepper with impetuous flare. There.

Let’s see, play-date-happy-hope. I want this new friend to like us, whole and homogeneous. ‘Sub’ bought some ‘Pepsi’, an annual embellishment. Nervous but confident, better than absent. :(

Bruxism pigeon-hole, my weakness uncovered. ‘Sub’s’ submariner, pleasure-beach, summer. A waltzer today, the vegan return. Pulse slightly elevated, let the experience begin.

Watching the hourglass. Eight and a half hours. Counting the seconds. Cleaning for hours.

Welcomes important, disclosure of innermost thoughts, company, dinner. I just can’t predict, honestly, what this day will deliver. 17th date, numeric sinner. Can’t post this publicly, Don’t want to jinx friendship.

Three-thirty three, seventh of July. Potions in motion, short spells to their wisdom. Druids encourage poetic rhythms, cynicism-icon clumsy collisions. Fear of clashing, trembling digits. Teetering twitches impetuousness latches. Letters said backwards, probability factory.

I’m a bakers dozen. Mostly unseen.

(Editor’s comment: We got on like a house on fire)

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baker%27s_dozen_(disambiguation)