paper lives, femme fatale

By Caitlin Thomson

paper lives

a desperate heartbeat shakes her paper frame
and falling rain dissolves her
the soggy words flowing like black blood
down her inked body
she curls around the topmost branches
hung up on green leaves, she waits for death to redeem her

we live only on paper
immortalised in words
my longing to feel flesh and blood grows stronger
yet his ribs are made of stardust and
these pages are destroyed
our paper towns burnt to ashes

“Christmas Renoir Girl in Light Snow – 2” © Piers Nye (

femme fatale

her world was a fast-paced whirlwind of boys, and she sucked the honey out of each one
growing sweeter and deadlier by the second, she amassed her collection of stingers.
whilst the boys were left empty, bitter as black coffee and with lives significantly dimmed by the absence of her body.

she comes, she leaves
she trod on their hopes and hearts, leaving blood splattered pavement in her midst,
yet her poisonous mist lingered, infecting their minds through love bites and promises of forever.
night-time was her time, a glowing star
but her exes knew that she was a wolf in sheep clothing, a shewolf without mercy
she picked out a hapless victim in the pulsing neon labyrinth and with one look, her eyes captured him and held him in a cage of stone
the modern medusa, is made of cold, unforgiving stone herself. an impenetrable heart.

or so she thought.
a mere mortal boy, with remarkable brown eyes, has tamed her soul.
his touch is as soft as clouds, as warm as a slow burning fire
he presses a fingertip to her cheek and it is like the heat from the sun courses through her body, consuming all in its path.
he smiles, and her stone heart shatters beyond repair, a now constant ache reigns beneath her ribs every time she looks upon him. an ache of real, heartbreakingly fierce love. a love that she has never known.

his fingers fumble with daisies, creating a crown and unknowingly, chaining her mind to the thought of him. the white petals anticipate a complete surrender,
under her ribs daisies bloom and blossom, winding themselves inextricably around her besotted bones.

Caitlin Thomson is an 18-year-old writer and freelance journalist, who has published work in HerCampus and Inter:mission. She currently lives in Bristol in the UK, where she is studying English Literature at the University of Bristol. Caitlin has loved writing ever since she won a writing competition when she was 12, which was judged by the bestselling author Michelle Harrison.

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