so close you can touch it, smell it
speak and it'll hear
but the fantasy won't come out of your mind

(until you pinch your nose, and swallow)

*

If this city were a person
There’d be a puddle of drool on the floor by now
(like someone with three girlfriends,
it's confusing as to which I'm talking about)

And so, my future is stuck
In limbo

*

if the ideas are already in your head, I cannot
be the one to put them there.
I can prod you to notice what you'll only notice later
when you're done pretending.
But there are only some lessons I can teach you,
so keep your eyes and learning mind
fully awake.

Sometimes, I cannot tell you what you don't need to know,
for the discovery is yours to make.
(nothing more than a bystander, I shan't even signal)

*

when I write,
words come to me in an articulate mess.
in speech,
I squint at words too far away to see,
the meaning never comes out right

*

Once, I was a striker;
perhaps it's time I retired to the bench

(where frustration could spring me from the wood)

*

The reply to my call is changing.

*

You are a luxury, not a necessity

*

Pretending is hard when there’s nothing to lie about

*

if truth is a one way mirror
which side do you prefer to sit on?

*

you see my name and you freeze
sunshine, mittens and regular contact could melt you

(or would you rather just keep the left over mince edible?)

*

I hope (with crossed fingers, toes, eye lashes and bra straps)
That you’ll look after it.

*

suicide letters bring only silence,
a numbness from the readerthat inhibits all
functioning, preventing them giving the attention
to the deceased that was so desperately craved.

*

Without my mind, I am nothing.
With it, I could be anything.

Right now, I don't know if I have it,
so I am somewhere between existing, and not.

*

the right to own a gun = the right to kill?

*

Bank holidays:
'you have these days off and no others. no, you can't
choose what days you want off, we decide that'
or
'without being told to take a break, you shall never cease
your immense dedication, now go home'

*

the world spun another turn
so fast it made me dizzy, and now
love is no longer about fairytales,
possession and soap operas

(I've felt, I've learned, I know)

my feet carry me backwards
and the weak smile
waves

*

The end is only the end when you put the book down.
Your fingers are gathering dust too, now what?

*

Penniless, driverless, without a hand to hold
In a city I don’t recognise
With a phone that doesn’t work

_{tears prickle my eyes.
fear.}

Free