I write bits of all-sorts about everything and nothing at the same time.
1. we love like traffic jams; boundless energy and nowhere to go with it except further together. sheets twist around our bodies as water runs round rocks, interlocked like tangled headphones.
I am trying to shower away the weekend, but the mix of sweat, rain, second hand smoke and marker pen won't run down the drain.
remember remember the fifth of november. gunpowder treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder treason. should ever be forgot. remember remember the fifth of november.
every exploding firework is turning into a silhouette of you. every ray of sunlight catches the edge of your skin like a cloud with a silver lining, except i cant see whats so bad about you.
I'm seeing things that are not there. I'm imagining you again, taking up space in my bed, causing my shallow breathing.
I had forgotten how ungodly this hour seems when you're all alone and the sky is the colour of your aunts stress-grey hair.
I want to be quiet. I want to be still. but my pillow doesn't hold the shape of you any better than my hands do now.
rain rain stay with me will you keep me company.
I'm sick to death of writing about how much I miss you when you will never read it. these spaces seem too big between my words now, eyes close for so much longer than a blink.
you make me feel like, I was not alone, and you tie me down forever, but I would die on this throne. as the shock waves settle, I was not alone, we wear this crown together, all I've ever known.
i dont know what this is, but its long so i understand if you dont read it all.
there is rain, and then there are blankets of water, falling to earth, guiding the word to sleep. this rain was just rain, but it felt like blankets.
I'm sorry I'm not enough. I'm sorry I don't want to do anything buy lie in grayscale lighting I'm sorry I'm pathetic, like broken strings. I'm sorry I'm quiet, like a mournful flower.
I like words. I like how they sound, what they do, the way one word can mean so many different things, there are so many variables.
she lays on the bed, curled tight like a hedgehog, a knee touching her nose, the other slightly lower. her head is off the pillow by some way, the covers pulled around her curved form.
he asks me if I am okay, and I say yes. and he knows I am lying so he asks if I am okay enough to manage till when he can reach me, and I say.. yes. I should say I don't know.
it's raining outside and I have a headache. we were beautiful once and now everything is too loud. the lightbulbs, the snow on the pavement and the looks they give me, everything is screaming.
we fall and we spin and we spin and it hurts but that's life, that's what they say, but it doesn't stop it hurting, no, no it doesn't stop you crying when you graze your knee. it just never stops..
I am a contradiction in skin. walking in chains, talking in freedom, all closed up, trying to bloom. I'm so lost, and there are no maps for feelings. it's like my batteries are dead.
they say, that her skin smelt like plasticine. and her tongue, she treated it like glass, constantly careful because the backlash didn't just hit them.