Tick tock tick tock sounds the watch on my scabby wrist.
A five year old super-girl, racing through the woods of Africa.
Maybe I’ll get kidnapped by a bunch of lunatics who will make me their queen.
I’m already Daddy’s little princess – but he’s gone to Britain.
My watch stops ticking.
My wrist bleeds an amber red – almost as dark as my bloodshot dress
The scorching sun melts my chocolate face along with my heart
I close my eyes and lie on my sand bed whilst an ant
Kisses my cheek, and the sand tickles
my reluctant, stubborn, childish feet.