James Webster

She has a tall figure, slender,

Alluringly alcoholic,

Daring me, taunting me.

Yet whilst the drink is sweet,

It sears wounds in my flesh.

Pink organs, still new.

Adam bobs in my throat,

With large swallows

Of the honeyed poison.

My insides ascend,

I dance with the Reaper.

My breaths are numbered.

A flashing light, black and grey,

White, on my eyes.

I can see the stars.

My dead hands are cold like winter.

Your tears fall, slowly, like leaves

In autumn, from your eyes.

A wooden box with a shiny grip,

I am carried, shoulder high,

To the stones of sorrow.

Flowers laid, rivers stain your face.

Dry your cheeks.

I am buried in the clouds.

James Webster : A sixteen-year-old student of King's College, who died at a party, over-dosing on vodka. RIP. 2010. 

Dorothy Counts

They jeer, point and snicker,

Laughing lily masks of fragility.

Ignorant of our sameness,

They threaten my skin.

Leviathan Letterman,

You will lose this crusade.

I am not afraid

Letterman : a student in high school or collage who has achieved honors in an interscholastic or intercollegiate activity especially sports.

Dorothy Counts: An African-American girl from Charlotte, North Carolina, who was one of the first of her race to attend Harry Harding's High School in 1957. After four days of attendance, she was forced to leave due to the police being unable to guarantee her safety.

Doubt

I sit here, on wooden steel,

Curved back, addiction upon my breath.

Stained glass Jesus stares down,

Disappointment in his gaze,

As I peel through well-thumbed pages,

Murmuring prayers too often said.

I do not believe a word whispered.

I am lost now.