Bye

Stormy nights, stormy minds.
The sun sets, and I’m alone.
I want it to be quiet but it isn’t.
It’s all so loud.
Yes, I’ll miss the view.
The top of the city, and the endless sky.
But views are views, peaceful or not.
I am leaving you.
And yes, of course, it hurts my soul.
My teacher, my companion, my maker, maybe.
My partner in crime, we never needed anyone, did we?
Running towards you, arms outstretched, I embraced nothing, the nothing.
Now I am running back to something, a something.
And no regrets, no, of course not, my dear.
But I want it…different.

In my home I feel homeless.
In my home I feel homeless.
In my life I feel lifeless.

So.
Bye.
Bye.
What else do you want from me?
Bye, I said.
It is not entirely your fault, and I am sorry you must suffer from that.
You will be fine, in fact, you will be the same.
So.
Bye, bye.
Bye to yourĀ fibrous roots.
Bye, don’t cry.
Bye.

Advertisements
Posted in fiction, poetry, random words, short story, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

London pt deux

You know

Sometimes

You just get so

Incredibly tired

Of seeing a bin bag

From you local Indian takeaway

Been ripped open

In the middle of the street

By a hungry fox

At 7:45

In the morning

Again.

Posted in fiction, poetry, random words, short story, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

You (A Shit Poem about Sex)

You.

Please lick the beauty off of me. Like you used to, let your tongue dance on my spiky finger nails, rusty raw, strip it off, reveal the whore, all of her.

I am cold and you don’t heat me up, no matter how hard (I try), it is me who is trying. Get your hands twisted in my curls, let me let you hold me.

Breathe on me, your face so close, distorted, ugly, I can’t see you but that’s how it should be, you don’t see me. O-v-e-r-p-o-w-e-r me.

You.

Me, too.

Me, also.

Pull away, and out, oh god.
Fuck me, you whisper, and I do, I will, I do.

And the waves, the waves.

Posted in fiction, love, obsession, poetry, random words, sex, short story, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , ,

Boxes

I woke up with the riff to Heat-Shaped Box playing in my head. The strangest, most beautiful sex song known to man. The power of the cunt. Rage on.

I knew a man, once. He was a strange man. It was a strange attraction. It was a lesson I had to learn, more than anything. A mistake I’d made before that I had to remake, for reasons that are too human to explain.

We met. And we met again, the day after. And we continued to meet. And of course I let him inside my heart-shaped box. I never understood what else he wanted from me but it seemed he just wanted to be in the vicinity of my person. He cooked me a roast dinner, in his terrible, terrible flat I suggested he move out of immediately. He drove me to work in the morning in his tatty, old van. He took me to Brighton, he paid for dinner, he held my hand.

And one day, he came to my house, and out of nowhere, and with no words, he handed me an unwrapped, framed print. It was Banksy’s broken and battered balloon heart, adorned all over with little plaster crosses. He didn’t know me, of course. Of course I hadn’t let him inside anything except the heart-shaped box. But he gave me my broken heart back anyway, perhaps making atonement for the sins done to others, or maybe the sins done by others, to me.

It was a beautiful moment in an otherwise confusing and somewhat pointless relation. There were many things that were not good enough, but I will leave them at that. There is a reason why I behaved like the rage I have between my legs. And of course I broke it off less than amicably. I wasn’t young, I wasn’t foolish; I was an arsehole, reacting to arsehole behaviour. But such is life, such is lessons, such are cunts.

I haven’t known him in years. I have no desire to. But the print hangs beneath the stairs that lead to my bed. Make of that what you will.

Posted in fiction, random words, short story, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , ,

Nonsense about convenience (malice)

Just remember when you think you’re free
The crack inside your fucking heart is me

Sometimes I wonder what you did with the tickets. You know, those tickets you bought, for you and me, as a birthday present, for me. For that gig that you knew I wanted to go to; for that gig you had to know me quite well to know that I wanted to go to. That thoughtful gift. That thoughtful gift.

The date came and it went. And I wonder if the tickets stayed with you, unused. Or if they were sold. Or maybe you went. And maybe you took that girl you met on New Year’s Eve. I think maybe you did. You always were a cheapskate. Why waste money? Just don’t tell her they were bought for someone else and you’ve got the perfect Thursday night surprise, right?

Your confidant, your sympathiser, your heart-to-heart, your goodnight kiss.

Your lightning rod, your diversion, your love on a leash, your placeholder.

Your convenience.

How fucking DARE you.

A hammock in a forest. And an elderly man smiles and smiles, pushing me gently back into gentle swinging and rubs homemade chilli paste on my eczema-ridden feet. And then he takes me by the foot and the hand and pulls me out and up and around and around by the foot and the hand. And a one and a two and an up, up, up I go, into the sky and moon and stars and nonsense like that. It was a strange dream but at least it wasn’t about you. I dreamt I met you. I was walking and you caught up with me and tapped me on the shoulder and smiled that smile and I thankfully woke up before you said, ‘Hey!’.

No one is ever convenient, to others or even to themselves.

So goodbye to you, my own, temporary inconvenience.

Posted in fiction, random words, short story, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tagged , , ,

Romanticism (or how I lost my sense of humour)

27.02.18

Dear Reader,

The below was written between 24th and 26th February. I guess it’s my version of one of those ‘This is what depression looks like’ photos. I have no desire to show my depression that way – it’s all mad hair and tired eyes but very much not in any kind of sexy way. Besides, I’m really not much of a photographer. But I am a writer, so.. there it is.

__________

Lids up.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
Chew.
Ew.
I should brush my teeth.
Vrooooooommmmm.
Shhh.
Wonder what time it is now.
Reach.
Phone.
Ugh, too bright.
8.43.
2 messages from x.
1 message from xx.
1 message from mum.
No.
Swipe – clear.
Swipe – clear.
Swipe – clear.
Phone upside down.
Other side.
Lids down.

Lids up.
Blink.
Wonder what time it is now.
Reach.
Phone.
10.47.
2 messages from xxx.
Swipe-clear.
Phone upside down.
Other side.
Reach.
Laptop lid up.
Password.
Netflix.
Peep Show.
Play.
Lids down.
Listen.
Listen.

Lids up.
‘Are you still watching?’
Yes.
Play.
12.06.
I’m hungry.
I should brush my teeth.
I need to pee.
Lids down.

Lids up.
Black screen.
Laptop lid down.
Reach.
Phone.
2 messages from xx.
1 message from xxxx.
1.54
Swipe – clear.
Swipe – clear.
I need to wee.
Home screen.
Audible.
The Butterfly Effect with Jon Ronson.
Play.
Other side.
I need to pee.
Lids down.

Lids up.
I need to pee.
Duvet aside.
Legs out, over, up.
5 steps.
Knickers down.
Head in hands.
Pee.
Toilet roll.
Wipe.
Flush.
Tap.
Soap.
Wash.
Rinse.
Tap.
Towel.
Mirror.
No.
5 steps.
Duvet.
Lids down.

Lids up.
I wonder what time it is now.
Hand to eyes.
My finger nails are so dirty.
Reach.
Phone.
3.19.
Ugh.
Reach.
Laptop lid up.
Password.
Netflix.
I’m hungry.
My body aches so badly.
Shift.
Sci-Fi film.
Sci-Fi film.
Sci-Fi film.
Sci-Fi film.
Kick Ass.
Play.

Credits.
Back to browse.
Kicks Ass 2.
Play.

Credits.
Back to browse.
Reach.
Phone.
1 message from Y.
Home screen.
“Have you eaten?”

“Yes”

“Eat something”
“OK”

Lids down.

It’s complicated, you know?

It’s light out, which is good, because that means that it will be day for a good while still, which means I don’t have to deal with the reality of work and responsibility and shopping and talking and fucking relating to other people or whatever for a good while.

But it’s light out, which is bad, because I don’t want to know it’s another day out there in which I am expected to take part because I can’t. I can’t and please don’t make me. I look out the window and I see you all out there – walking, chatting, running, taking your dog out, stumbling home from the pub – and I have absolutely no desire to join you. In anger I draw the curtain and make absolutely sure not even a tiny slither of light gets through.

You know why I don’t talk to you? ‘cos I do.
1. I have nothing to say. Nothing is HAPPENING. There is nothing to report.
“How are you?”
“Nothing”

2. I DON’T WANT YOU TO SEE ME LIKE THIS.

OH MY GOD how I don’t want you, any of you fantastic people, to see me like this. You keep me up and alive and sane, you, all of you, my friends, my lovers, my family, my people. PLEASE DON’T LOOK AT ME. I don’t want you to see my rotting soul.

I AM SO WORRIED ABOUT EVERYTHING!

__________

And today? Today is a completely different day. I could try and explain it but then, I could also just let it stand.

Learning to live with this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my entire life. But I’m trying.

Posted in anxiety, depression, fiction, mental health, mental illness, poetry, random words, Uncategorized, words, writing | Tagged , , , , , ,

Protected: Love

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Posted in Uncategorized