Looking at the blood on my clothes
Out out damn spot!
Rrrrrrip.
Rrrrrrrippp.
I tear the t-shirt first
Then the jeans
I tie them end-to-end,
Weaving in strips of a Vogue magazine someone brought for me.
(here! You killed 2 people and you’re in jail! How about some expensive fashion to cheer you up?)
a policeman checking on me thought I was preparing to hang myself.
Was I?
I don’t know.
I told him I was making decorations for the cell.
I wanted time to think.
He took my garland away.
Was that for my protection, or his?
The police had ignored or overruled 2 medical reports saying I needed urgent psychiatric attention
In their determination to keep me in this cell,
so I doubt they would want anyone to know I was actively trying to hurt myself,
or that I was loca enough to make decorations out of evidence
(mixed media painting/collage by Jessica Hirst)
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