Lexie Cracknell

Walking to Russia

I write to hide the pages, the ink

And pixels that spilled out of my heart

Dribbled down my veins and formed

Words upon the screen. Love turning into tears

And God, just let it go-

We write fantasies, open up our minds,

Echo over into the stars and sky

Falling forever upwards, self-denying

Defying gravity, we look, and see that I am beautiful

But ugly, ugly too.

But he's got me back on the poetry

Caked in red and dashed to velvet

Check out the skies, like how I'm falling

Back, back, back in time...

If I reach out, Romeo's not reaching back now,

Now he's left me, in his self and in his heart

And he's not reading anymore

And I can't really expect him to.

So I can't write, or speak his name

Without the bile for me rising up my gullet

I can't see him without the noose

And bottles of dirty, dirty pills

But for now, he works his way in

Like the slimy lichen, the way he always was,

But how he fooled me,

Betrayed me and used me and turned away

Turned away to watch me crumble... and fall.

Will I ever stop falling.

So many to catch, but I'm so not solid anymore,

I'm a ghost of me, more than I thought

I could ever be...

So I go outside and smoke until my lungs turn black

Stand up just to collapse and cry or laugh or scream

Or do nothing, nothing at all. So I'm here-


Reach out! Reach out, grab me by these creaking bones,

Squeeze the tightening skin

Get me to eat, find me something to do with my hands,

Find something intrinsic inside me,

Tell me what I need to hear, not what I should,

Fill up my heart, just make me feel again,

Just let me trust again, naturally, not because

I know I should...

What is there to die for when there's nothing left to live for?

What is there to die for when there's nothing left to live for?

Walk with me to Russia, show them all

Show me, I was wrong and so was he,

I'm worth it, I'm worth it all!

I'm... I'm worth it. I'm worth something afterall.

Lexie Cracknell © 2011


We're falling back through history,

We're in the forests, tangled and wild,

All these ghosts of me,

They scatter, howl in the darkness

Inside the skull, can they see

The pink light shining though

As the sun is setting on me now,

And the passions rise and die,

Do they dream? These phantoms

Of renewing flesh.

I cannot look back, can only reflect

Can only hold the illusion of sight

The stabbings in my chest,

The ache and wheeze of the air I breath-

If I could only write so eloquently,

Always, I would find no fault at all.

Writing with the tongue and teeth

Whip my words away to

The sky and the gods, no one of corporeal

Matter will ever know...

Hound me. Oh gods, they hound me still.

Would you remember this?

I speak to you ten years from now,

You'll be the same, but a stranger too,

Rolling in cash,

Or sleeping in the Daily Mail-

Will you remember, remember still?


Writhe upon these beaches

With a fishbowl of booze inside my blood-

On the drip, and sixty euro's gone to bring

Me back from one hell to another.

Call on me, down the shadows of the world,

And let your tortured heart of darkness sing

Of the story of the earth,

World unfolding as the sunset reddens

And evening comes:

I wear red, like a brown skeleton

And drink free wine behind the Sidari bar.

Memories...ah yes...I remember yet.

Blistered cigaretted arms, call upon me

And I turned my back from the crowd

To find a dagger in my back,

St. Peter Pan never growing old

From an offended god, call on me,

And drag me screaming from within.

So I dived into the sparkling,

Mediterranean Sea.

Dragged under. Breathing in.

Pulling up and throwing out,

Burning lungs and a broken fucking heart.


Like salt in the wound,

The old scar still lives,

Why won't I heal?

Why won't I heal?

Lexie Cracknell © 2011