Halloween

And in the moment between

my alcohol-inspired slumber

and his drug-fuelled insomnia

he pressed his drunk fingers

against my patient back

and mapped a perfect and precise future

Monday

Another sun

Or maybe the same

Wakes us early

And forces us to change

Again

But remain very much the same

And hustle into another car

Which gives good news

Exciting scary news.

 

Us three

Walk down past ruined castles

And beaches

And talk about each other

And laugh about each other

And queue for something

Very much worth queuing for.

 

Home again

To spend

Another never-ending night

Talking about

How amazing it has been

And I think

How strange it is

That your thoughts are mine

And I cannot wait to wake up

Tomorrow (and for many more tomorrows)

In a good mood

‘I think it might be your fault’

Sunday

Another morning is ours

And waiting

When we open our eyes

To sweat and sun

And cover ourselves in more

Or less

Cloth

And meet him

Who I haven’t seen in a while

And miss.

 

In the car we gallop

Down motorways

And get caught in a storm

Of people

And when we land on the beach

We seek shelter

To eat our sand sprayed

Sandwiches

And listen to poetry

That I haven’t written

But wish I had.

 

At home we waste hours

Eating, drinking

Listening to me talk

And listening to him listen

A soft hum and nod

And then decide

To take the night

And watch other’s laugh

Upon borrowed bikes.

 

And it feels so good

To have him

And to let him have me

Because I have never met myself

Or seen myself so closely

And he’s making me love her

And telling her

‘You’re not the only one’

But meaning something other

To what ‘he’ has said before.

 

Saturday

Hungover mornings

On their balcony

Smoked salmon

Bitter on my tongue

Melting with the aftertaste

Of martini

But soothing too

And friendlier.

 

We walked to the dene

And bent down to speak

To lower creatures

Who melt me

And her

And then to spend our last few coins

On ice that’ll melt too

When licking at our tongues.

 

And then it’s into a busy street

To buy disposable things

Plastic time

And plastic love

In the heat

And through pathways

That sound like Fleetwood Mac

And drawn out summer days.

 

And home now to enjoy

The freeze of tap water

On my bare legs

We drink rose to soften

And numb our limbs

And push and rock our bodies

Into corners

Of our round heaven.

 

It’s 7 o’ clock

And we’ve forgotten the time

So hurry into clothes

And onto metros

And drag our half-drunk minds

To meet sober ones

Who remind me of older times

Before him

Horrible times.

 

We skip home

Me speaking nonsense

And him

As always

Catching each word

And cherishing it

And telling me

‘You’re drunk’

As if he isn’t too.

 

Blood

I imagine her

finding me

sat on the edge

and she says

‘Oh baby, that’s nothing

you didn’t even make yourself bleed’

 

This is not a poem

Hello!

This is not a poem, but just a little note to say I’ve started writing weekly blog posts for a new blog called ‘The Model’.

My first post is up on the site now and you can find it here.

I hope you enjoy xx

Friday

It wasn’t anything special

I don’t think

Other than him

Here

And me on the side

Drinking in a long dress

That didn’t match

My settings

But he told me ‘you look pretty’

So, I couldn’t take it off

And wouldn’t dare.

 

 

Sleep talking

You slept on tiptoes

and between dreams

and told me

in your sleep

that I was stealing the covers

and I laughed

watching you cradled in cloud

and linen perfume.

 

You woke before the sun

and between seconds

and told me

as your eyes opened

that I’d stolen the covers

and I said I was sorry

and kissed your smiling greedy eyes

back to sleep.

Counting sheep

She looked at me weirdly today

And then not at all

And then my mind took me on another adventure

Where her hands were a harness around my neck

To keep my head upright, and my throat closed

Where her hands cut lengths of my hair off in my sleep

And began to weave a blanket to smother me with

Where her hands made fire and burnt my skin so it crackled

To show that I am lesser and I am not so fierce

 

 

And it took a while for me to escape my miserable dream

And find peace again in my sub-conscience

But also to rid the memory that her hands will return

To torment me again

Banana

I am peeling the skin,

thick repulsive dotted yellowed

lumpy boney

bruised

 

I am peeling the skin,

speckled brown sharp soft

dark edged

putrid

 

I am peeling the skin,

flesh spits outwards mouldy

squeezes squirts

doughy

 

I am peeling the skin,

sickening smell saliva decay

pulpy mess

wet

 

I am peeling the skin,

dig push finger into mush

pull out

sodden

 

I am peeling the skin,

grime on the floor sudden guilt

wasted taste

iron

 

I am peeling the skin,

rotting dirty fruit I think

thinking other

him