Pink Is The New Black

Pink is the saltiness in my eye.
Pink is the shivers down my spine.
Pink is the tension in my shoulder.
Pink is the fingers going colder.
Pink is the anger in my fists.
Pink is the lines on my wrists.
Pink is the blood on my hand.
Pink is the betrayal of men.
Pink is the hate in my heart.
Pink is my soul torn apart.
Pink is the vacant broken shells.
Pink's for the fallen in hell.

Agnes Lee
Topic: Pink (day 24)

Sanctuary

Quiet. Not a sound.
Run to the other box in that box in the flat.
Feel the tension seeping around.
Choose to actually live in that.
Enjoy the freedom from the societal town.

We must be cats.


Agnes Lee
Topic: Rooms (day 22)

Mrs. Montag

Inspired by the book, Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury

I got my stomach pumped tonight.

That’s no big deal. Everyone has done it.

It is almost a weekly routine for me.

In fact, I crave it.

They inject you with this amazing concoction

of dancing colors after you get pumped. It helps

you forget your pain.

They call it Euphoria.

I have tasted it so many times, the body has become

more resilient than the burning flames on the next

government street.

Protocol is to up the dose.

I crave protocol,

so I make sure I’ll always take one pill more than the last.

My insane husband has fled to join the hippies

on the tracks. Something about giving

happiness a try. I call it naivety.

Do I miss him? Well, I get the parlor walls

all to myself and the seashells are never offed

these days. I listen to them as I count the capsules.

The bombings in the adjacent city make the best songs

for each session. Upbeat and dynamite.

The poison coursing through my empty veins,

slowly seeping into my hollowed mind. Hear

the low hum of the machine, sucking the sleep

out, next to me. It sounds like his voice.

Euphoria. It brings me to the perfect world,

their perfect world, my perfect world.


Agnes Lee
Topic: Addiction (day 17)

Misconceptions

People seem to think that, when you get up into space, you're leaving gravity behind. It's a pretty notion, one all wrapped up in poignant symbolism worthy of Tennyson himself (or whoever your favourite poet might be - I don't really give a shhhh--- shoestring). Leaving everything that could possibly hold you back down to Earth in those few moments of gut-wrenching, blackout-inducing, rocket-boosted acceleration, blasting off into the great unknown. As the g's build up and your stomach tries its very best to emerge out the back of your spine, you feel yourself moving faster, faster, faster fasterfasterfaster - tearing you from the grip of all the lost dreams, bitter disappointments, iron-bound heart-hurts and spirit-hurts, all the lead weights sitting pretty in the depths of your soul. Just before you lose your vision (and your lunch) -poof!- out you come the other side, floating, spinning, free-wheeling among sparkling diamonds set in that immense black velvet-ness of space. You're free.

It's a pretty notion, sure enough. But any tenth grader worth his A grade in Physics can tell you - it's complete and utter bullshit. Gravity isn't that easily hoodwinked, and you sure as hell - or, well, gravity - can't run away from what's inside of you. You're still burdened, still falling - just that now you're falling around the earth, not towards it.

- Adrian