An organised mess

Wardrobe of memories

I hung up my skinny white jeans, 

vivid green-grass stains, ran from ankle to thigh 

I must of been too high, 

the ground blended with the sky. 

I studied my luminous yellow plunge top, and hung it at the back

a mouldy brown mark, covering the appendix in my belly, 

too many jager bombs, 

the session got a little too heavy. 

I hung up my white dress, with the pink floral print, 

wet blood still trickling down from the crutch, 

maybe he loved me too hard,

maybe he loved me too much. 

I folded my black-leather jeans, 

splitting at the seams, I hung them up to the right, 

the white stains don't have a story behind them,

or maybe they might. 

I ironed my new light blue dress, I only wore it once

I hung it up, the material fine,

the collar bone covered, in freshly poured red wine, 

I can't help the stains, I drink all the time. 

I hung up my baggy grey jumper, too big but extra comfy, 

covered in burn holes like pimples, 

just quit,

it isn't that simple. 

I poured the pine wood with petrol,

I need to burn this away, it's a must

I sparked my lighter, started a fire

and watched my wardrobe disintegrate into dust. 

The dust floated up, 

penetrated my skin, 

this is a dangerous cycle i'm in.