Saucers on the washing lineI spend time thinking in the sink Cutlery spawn and unwashed dishes Layered with spaghetti and dirt Never clean or glistening or sparkling enough. But, out the window, see?Saucers on the washing line
Looking abroad, at the hoard, Hanging on the washing line, with limbs flowing The smell of the grass mowing Flexible and alive with the knowing There must be more..
Brittle porcelain and scratched dish They wish together for just a little more than this. But they can't be bothered
They won't persist.
We sit together, in this deep sink, Colliding; to make t
ExhaustUnbuttoned zipI'm going to make this room grey with the spray from my mouth. I'm out. Out and about. In monotone monstrosity, trick-colouration and curiosity Taking it far too seriously Celeritously, nervously, stupidly. Ordinal sundial is watching me fade to night Then day and the in-between when night and day fight. Grey shades, humbly move to outrageous display "Are you okay, okay?" Taking ones hand, no longer caring But instead pairing Such shamed and untamed names "Yeah, I'm better than okay" I admit and scream I fucking shout down the day I put it right onUnbuttoned zip
Closed eyes buzzWasp humming and thumping, Tapping their furry spines furiously on bright pink foliageClosed eyes buzz
These bitter days full of brutality, snow and gloom Do nothing to prevent the ever distant echoes of
These sufferers of hay fever.
Sneezing every season with watered eyes
What I'd love to do Is trap you in my small purse And take a peek when nights are done for And hear you hum to me My petite little bee.
Oh, hum me to sleep. When cold or lonely When I sleep meekly When I sleep deeply When we sleep freely When you sleep with me [This
FragmentedSip it. It’s hot. The warm brown liquid. It trickles. DownFragmented
your
sweet
delicate
neck.
Feel it heat your body. Stomach sunri
quiet as a mouseyou were the contradiction between warm wool jackets and Nazi eyes, the one that called me sweetheart and surveyed the rotten apple of my body, pausing here and there to bite, to bruise. the one that incessantly called me beautiful, as if the words could cancel out the fact that I was a bundle of rough, swollen skin. the one that saw my shaking, those awful tremors of simple love, and never made sound.quiet as a mouse
constancyconstancy: to be spread out over white sheets eyes wide awakeconstancy
when afternoon knocks at my door, I will be the picture of stability. concrete hands, heart, frame crumbling into an industrial skeleton and wishing I was soft as broken soil, the wind and water leaving bite marks at my edges.
it's five a.m. and I feel anything but human
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