fuck brain no bad feelings go away asleep ailsa silly fool write out sleep out write fool silly ailsa asleep away go feelings bad no brain fuck
I don’t want empty gestures from an empty wallet.
Hugs and mugs of tea are enough to fill me up.
I could spend a lot of time walking around in a haze of ice-cream houses and the sound ice-cubes make when they touch and laugh and the lovely way the moss in the wall aligns with the sky but I don’t. Sometimes I wonder why.
I made the stars dance with my eyes
round in circles
projected through open ceiling
battery light green on sky
I can make sheets look beautiful
hung with brass pins and care
open my eyes this way
I can make me see beautiful
open my mind this way
dismantled yourself into adjectives
took a hammer to yourself
multi-faceted you shattered
small enough to slip through a letterbox
sought entry where you weren’t wanted
you suit the sky and trees
I loved you whole
Porridge isn’t sexy
haven’t mastered ‘sexy’ yet
the orgasms don’t mind
head star light
shooting too fast past
the wrong way
full moon beams
pulling too far
the wrong way
the tide will return
You are in a pool with water that is made blue by both the sky and by the plastic that was laid down by a sunstained, crumpled man and his sweat.
It is just past midday. The sun is above you. You know this because as you swim you are watching your shape below you. Its distortion pleases you. It is an outline, unaware of the concept of perfection.
You are wearing a bikini but do not look like the pictures tell you. Your skin is brown -though your boyfriend calls it bronze- but there are innocent pink-white lines where plants caught you, or you experimented with anger on yourself.
Your feet are slim, narrow but almost too dark: the white callouses of years of dancing dead skin look odd. And the newer blisters from running shoes that don’t fit- an unwillingness to spend money- appear as ghosts of a month ago when you were in a country where it rains all year round.
Here, you have been told, it does not rain for eight months at a time. But in winter, in winter water takes over.
You are enjoying pulling through the water slowly. Your shape beneath you shivers with the light and the ripples. Underwater is quiet. You think this is how you would like to die. Sinking. Fitting in perfectly as the fluidity envelops your retiring body.
You have not thought about your dying very much of late. But there was talk over breakfast of the latest games console and technological advances and you were thinking you don’t give a damn.
There are times when you think you should save and strive.
There are times when you think you will just die and humanity will not just forget, but now have noted your presence at all- even in passing and it will just continue to tear at itself in its mad, unthinking frenzy to get more.
Sometimes you take joy in the idea of your insignificance. In standing by and watching the world burn itself. You could so easily turn your back. Sometimes you do.
Sometimes you think it doesn’t matter what you do anyway.
Sometimes you manage to forget to think. Most of the time you don’t and wonder how everyone else manages to forget.
Often, you understand why people drink.
It is later now and so your shadow swims beside you, to your left. Company.
Remember when you tasted of suncream and sea salt?
Your hair was mildly sticky and framing your freckled face in waves and tangles trying to echo the crashing ocean.
Remember when your skin smelt of suncream and warmth left over from the hours when the sand was too hot to treat so we ran into the water laughing and screaming, shrieking and forgetting?
Now the sky is peach sorbet and after dinner mints, melting as the sand cools.
my body and brain and heart are shaking the world is moving too slowly not quite breaking faking calm not reacting not fucking acting fast enough everything keeps falling into the past so quickly need to get a grasp why is everyone so slow trying to drag me down in their dull trickling not quite flow so I’ll paint everything to show the colour everywhere bold strokes striking out jumping off roofs breaking things just to see the splash just to smash hear the crash keep stumbling no falling allowed why is there no crowd surrounding surrendering with this there will be no ending no depending keep going saying things three times three times three times tables are there for dancing chance is a fine thing hold onto it and swing so high watch me as I fly fly fly
loving you is easier when
you’re hazy around the edges
you’re not so sharp
now I know what alcohol is for
obviously swearing makes me tough
swearing means not thinking about talking
talking stops me thinking
swearing not thinking but talking means not feeling
feeling like not feeling
Fuckity fuck fuck
I will be as shallow as
the inch of water
you want to drown in dive in
I will wash clean in the splash