Simona Terron Biography

My freshly washed hair is still damp against my scalp
Bound by a plastic jaw with a squeaky hinge
In a knot that’s so tight it feels my ears are pulled back.
...

A sliver of pain hanging in the midnight ink
Don’t be silly, that’s the moon he says
As his lips nuzzle my ear
Sending zillions of pleasure pulses racing to my synapses
...

The rain comes
And I stand there drenched
Till my bones, outlined in silk
The colour of the sullen sky,
...

I try and rise above the fear-induced fog in my mind
Above the lemon-rind bitterness that loving and leaving
Leaves behind, residual regret resounds off the walls
Of my aching but throbbingly alive consciousness
...

I'm getting used to how it feels
to be a cog in the wheels of efficiency
where friendship is the garb of choice and preferred medium to convey the static noise
of officialese, to cloak politics and veil jibes
...