wear the wool

i'll wear the wool and pull the petals over my eyes.

i'll pretend we'd never listened to b-sides 

ate clementines

slept through mogwai

and hated each other for pretending not to

want

the other

when winter comes again,

i'll just pretend.

HOME IS WHERE IS HOME.

Without the summers heat, we've moved to a flat with a graveyard across the street. 

Home has situated itself in a place where reality speaks plainly and the sun stays tucked away.

Stays inside, bent on the hopes that the torrential rain will sort everything out, bring the plants back to life.

They come dressed  in black, with a somber hats that wilt to hide the mood and glasses that scowl reflections of the scene.

Just another afternoon in Dalkeith, 

Our city at a safe distance to keep the season's spirit.  It grows and breaths on thespians, on capitalism, on the dreams of seventeen's willing to work for three quid.

An exit from the depths of it,

My face gleams warpaint, my heart snipped from my sleeve.  I arrive too late, as everyone has introduced themselves to the festivities.  

How can I keep my composure?

Just another obstacle in the everyday retreat.

When one knows they should have stayed home to watch the mourners from the window and feel better about living.

Immobility as my middle name.

the time.

when we rise.

solidarity.

Dark. The scene is dimmer then I once remember.

Carry Gold.  You'll require the glitz to entice them, to entertain and enlighten.

To liven.

My hair's natural curl has returned, and it's sheen alone has been the only light shed on home.

The air here, heavy with familiar scenario, hot with the sting of disaffected youth,

They assimilate their weight in goods, in jewels.

Their iron stomaches, their lead intestines fear nothing of the sort.

The masquerade of modern day,

Consumption seems the only way for my precious darlings,

their feeble minds and evaporating personalities,

those I hate to love, hence, love to hate.

left.

there was no sun to set.   the light dissipated, simultaneously, the city glowed.

a group of spanish men observed us like birds in a sanctuary,

flapping our wings softly, making tiny noises with our throats.

we'd reached a peak.

upon flat moss and rabbit holes I wished I could crawl inside, we sighed.

for, this is a finer moment in life.

After, while guzzling gin beside a toilet,

the bleakest of black tiled walls,

I secretly wished these moments were permanent, 

not a capsule of time.

that she would stay, keep me feel safe.

ease the transition.

Sunday, I woke up with that daunting ache,

as though I'd slept with a man I loved,

but knew, it was 

over.

he was 

gone.

 left to fend, 

with my only friend, my only lover,

the city which breaths me,

keeps me warm at night.   

NEW LOVES.

we slide down cobblestone streets, 

damp, drunk

she prods her fingers between my stitches.

I coo. I clamber. I fumble. I flounder. 

a hole in the wall Jazz Bar, hidden beneath an underpass.

we scamper to purchase liquid courage,

though we've had out fill hours before.

She screams at the man with the metal violin,

a buoyant tune reverberates, 

we bounce.

light as a feather, scared stiff as a board.

I fall in the stall and sneak up the steps,

feeling quite like 16 again.

Olly-Olly-Oxen-Free,

I am completely alone in this city.

less to say.

the curtains draw clean to a close, a gash is stitched pristine

the light is best in the studio, 

in the morning.

up all hours, heart stares back literally.

with only time to waste, wasting precious time

coming,

to the end of an era 

greet the deceased,

with nothing sentimental,

in conjunction, we'll never be complete.

a life.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, you're awake now"

"You'd left, left me, left our city. You took a train to Tokyo"

"I don't plan to go, haven't thought much about Tokyo.  Haven't thought much about anyone, anywhere, for that matter"

"Oh"

I am empty. I am listless.

an emphatic denial.

You'll heal, 

They'll be no need for me to lick your wounds.  

They'll be no need for me to dream a life.

The equivalent to fools gold.

and, left the fool,

I'd wait for you in every city.

You'll never show, You'll never shine.

You'll find another to collect the goods I waited years to savour.

Languid in my lowliness.

I am empty. I am listless.

manifest

the fear instills itself.  

some mornings I make toast and watch the glowing box glow.  

some days I stare at the ground, the ceiling, the sink.

time passes with nothing on it's mind.  

people forget I live and breathe.

I forget to live, to breathe.

I am a room, only an object.

I am, objectively, alive.

impartial to the hour, a loss of significant flavor.

I am sexless, loveless, I burn cold.

I watch our plants grow, through unaware of their progression.

their height.

What you see is my reflection,

the manifestation of a woman.

let go.

developing the best ways to avoid confronting anything; sentimental, 

imagining myself small & insignificant, 

each word that leaves my lips just a test for the next, 

inaudible, no sound corresponding with another.

I cease to speak anything worthy.

palms at heart, I sit

in front of all the plants that will soon replace my presence,

except in bed, where their soil would stain the sheets.

I feel like I own nothing,

Lately, not even novel wit.

or a faultless way to let go. 

One Very Important THOUGHT.

Banana's contain a specific enzyme that speeds up the deterioration of other fruits when placed close enough. 

Easily, comparable to myself. 

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I'M TRYING

I sit still. I stare. I let the mosquitos slowly swallow my blood. I leave my shoes by the door. I fold the laundry. I butter the toast. I set the alarm. I cuddle, I coo. I read aloud. I criticize my body. I wonder. I eat. I scream. I stumble home. I move the banana's to their own bowl.

Eventually, everything rots.

emersed.

there is no need to despise capitalizing on one's beauty, though difficult to place worth on the ideal features.

a theoretical price tag.

the unfavorable reminder, to be surrounded by women who are utterly revolting.

the hollow resemblance of an oni, 

but in 'one's eye's 

a pretty penny.

even

comparable to a specific screen-dream, 

perhaps.

if I too, were to shed all existing light from piercing my heart strings,

bitter, wearing soulless as chic

the bones & blood of a reptile

I too, could capitalize on you

and would no longer feel much of anything.

W H O C O U L D I B E? 

stiff.

I can't say I'd die for

much.

the scent of the wind,

come spring

a stiff, thick, sparkling,

prize of man,

a drink

& the waves, the water

the ocean,

will

(we'll) ALL come

soon.

hibernating.

slacking.
and it's already next month.


I've been trying to come up with a a new subject to focus on that does not consist of narcissism, feminist philosophy, smoking myself silly, any place in the United Kingdom, learning spanish, exploring text and leaving my lover.


I must quit sleeping in until 1:00 p.m and being a jealous, raging cunt to my Boyfriend.
waking from wanderlust at cash-out to find myself repaeting the same three phrases over and over.
direction, direction.
trying to learn what it's like to love the life you've got.


he's in because he's your best friend.
he's in because he's your blood.
and I'm left, stark & searching, because I'm the basis for the beginnings stages 
of the creation 
of a stupid broad.

monolith.

This isn't a specific space, a particular place, an exact time.

It's the abyss that fills this indistinguishable cavity.

lackluster.

the lament can hardly be characterized as a cause

or as, causing,

the constant disillusionment

of the colour of the walls,

or the transaction of salutations.

the mechanical ploy of love.

the automated existence can be a cogent argument

for what, are, actual desires.

and what is,

actually, existing.

the meticulous procedure,

of the lid opening to expose the iris

is laborious enough

to make one give up.

the persistence.
the quest to fill the abyss, the cavity

with something, one could assume, 

is more then irresolute gesture,
in whichever direction.