The morning after the night before

This night will drain from her head,
Memories; tears flow to the bed
All that remains is the knowledge
That something went wrong.
But she can’t recall what
It hovers, tugs the tip of her tongue,
Like a spoilt child,
Cries for attention.

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Portfolio in progress

If you are not worried,
You are not listening;
Magazines have poisoned teens
With serpent words,
Sharp and silken,
Soft as the devil’s tongue.
Advertisements are chisels,
Etching lies in young girl’s minds
As they watch hollow frames
Cavort under the burning glare
Of a thousand hungry eyes.
The harsh music rings through all our ears;
And if you are not worried,
You have not been listening.