You whispered secrets over tequila shots and coke.

A letter to the dead poet, Charles Bukowski.

The sudden compulsion to dance, in nothing but a red feather boa and yellow cotton socks.

Define me by my body, please.

One day she will become the user, and not the used - carved out hollow of cereal for breakfast and orange juice for lunch.

... kind of like her life, flaking.

I know you saw me and I never got the chance to explain - you never asked.

I taste of second hand sin, mostly because he used to touch me just so.

She thinks it is murder, but behind it lurks the knowledge of freedom.

Tomorrow there will be another faithless face in the back room of a church hall.

Stop telling me to eat more. I'm beautiful.

About how self destruction is as free as you can get, really.

It only took ten seconds to fall back into old addiction.

They are the familiar tune of leaden, spreading nostaligia because you can't get away from tarbubble popping, bathsharing memories, and besides...

Define: secret The real secret is never hidden behind a mask. It is given with the unique singularity of things that transcend normality. In here you will find the secrets of strangers, my friends, and me.

It's been one year, three months and seven days. It tastes like victory share my applause.

She knows she skinny, but it's not that bad. It spells beautiful, after all.

She dreams in technicolour and wakes hungry.

Mix it with failure and tell them it's decaffeinated.

The diary entries of a girl who's perfectly normal she just gets these weird thoughts sometimes.

I watch bruises form behind my eyelids as the tiny, murmuring girl is dragged onto the bus.

Skin, words, makeup... they're there for a reason.

She's skin stretched over sharpened, starving bones and her painted lips clash with undefined cheekbones.

I sit I watch I learn. A collection of drabbles inspired by the people I watch every day... the interesting ones the drunks, the sluts, the disturbed.

How can she hold so much power over me? Documents a few events in a girls life, as she falls under the spell of drugs, and Her.

She's sweet sixteen, she's innocence in icing, and they sing happy birthday to me.

Define soda pop laughs and filing cabinet hate...

My exbest friend. An account of one of our nights together drunk on cheap vodka 3.99 and liquid fear...

And I'm the girl who's almost beautiful when I shatter, tremble, break.

And even though I lust after clichés, all I see is reflected sunlight.

Not really serious... just something I always found kinda funny about razors.

I am fifteen and his hands tell me I am uglyinnocent.

It's funny how I can love her mouth, her fingers... and not love her.

The scars are healed over, long gone in a blur of daysmonthsyears. So why are there still ridges on my skin?

A guy made me realise today... made me realise that I'm only beautiful when I'm broken.

The difference between how a child perceives their childhood, and how their parents do. They remember... and it wasn't that bad, really.

Short poem about craving.

Dirty cups and straggles of lace, fine china...

Sweet explosion in a back alley: intoxication. Alcohol and sex...

She's been dancing, her body, long and postured, arching to a rhythm I don't understand...

Through her addled brain, a girl remembers missing? and she reaches for the powder.

Mostly you just have to swallow back the scream.

Draw it down, blunt and burning, trying to harden the trembles and glazed tears and how do you explain, when the other person doesn't even care?

She's quititng, she really is. But it tastes so good, and no one's home... who's gonna know?

Dreaming of illicit love... rough tongue, salt tang, fingertips dancing over hardened skin... and I awake: guilty.

Uh. I don't know why you hang out with that freak. She is so weird.'

She just wants to be older. She didn't mean to force the experience on herself, but she did... and inside she wants to vomit.

Excerpts from a life of a rage driven girl sex, drugs, lies and rehab. Please R&R.

She can make me do anything, believe anything, no matter how sick, how depraved, how stupid. And the funny thing? Every time you make my thoughts twist... I begin to... Trust you even more.

Innocence has changed. Short skirts and tight tops don't make you a slut, cigarettes and alcohol don't make you shocking. It's 2005, she's fifteen and she's innocent.

She's everything you ever wanted to be she's perfect, and the perfect amount of perfume covers the hovering scent of vomit.

She sits on the steps now, eyes squinting and smoke curling from her mouth... no one knows what happened, but... but she looks like someone tore the petals off of her. Please R&R.

Snapshots of a girl's life as she grows up with her deadbeat, alcoholic mother. Her dark eyes will be deeper than usual when she rounds on her whore, sinner, slut, dirty words formed on a generous mouth.

Describing your version of The One. Not cliched romance, with a slight twist at the end. Fruit perfume and brand name shampoo... undertaste of, salt, smoke, summer rain on tarmac...

She exists in their world, insane and trapped. Split personalities, Inside and Out, conflict her, and only in her dreams is she free. But when she wakes the truth is always there she's just another doll, their strings containing her.

Why do teenagers binge drink...? My answer. Please R&R.

Do you know what it's like when the terror surrounds you...?

Have you ever felt the rush of taking something that wasn't yours?

Strings attached to wasted limbs... You dangle... Broken.

Slutty tops and sexy jeans... manic laughing, drunken screams... I'm just crazy, out to delude... I'm a girl with attitude.

What lies behind that automatic answer, fine...

The flame flickered and his eyes shined... this destructive, indiscriminating, beautiful element that was under his control with just a tiny flick of his thumb...

The title kinds says it all... my answer to that question, Why are you like this Please R&R.

I sit and stare... outside my window... please R&R.