(now, what are those?)
Spiders turn into sinister cucumbers and I feel betrayed.
It’s all so uncanny and I wonder why I can’t enter? The knob on the oven broke, too
And we decided not to live together just yet.
Because why would we - it’s early and it’s been a dream,
But now we’ve woken up and it’s there but the lights won’t switch on.
Spooked, we head home and decide to learn self-defence and i wonder if my hair grew it would mean that I could finally learn to swim
Swim away from things that push me in the wrong direction - open the wrong draw in the filing cabinet - the buried drawers of the brain
I ended up nearly boiling myself in your bath whilst trying to get far away enough that you would still notice me. There’s the catch isn’t that right
Far away but near enough to seem far away
My legs blotch and my fingers curl in one themselves as the rain pours and drags the rucksack further down your sweaty back,
The tantalizing pull down.
You talk about wine whilst I drink it and I listen to John Martyn tell someone that ‘you don’t know what love is til you’ve felt the blues’ -
I fear perpetual attempts at recreation.
I then glance at the photograph I have of her, after an intense rifle-through, whilst wearing the blanket that he used to drape over his shoulders in bed
Opposite the new one; so much more than him and artists are bastards stares me in the face - I wrote it; no stencilled it- onto a piece of paper and now it stays on the wall as an i-don’t-know-what-really-reminder-of-something-to-someone
-
The lyrics destination unknown repeat over again - taunting me as time stretches and pings back.
If it’s not from walking, then what is?
(Then what is?)
Sometimes it can be a lot chewier. In the past broken hearts and arguments have meant less and less culinary pleasure seeking. Bowls of Weetos part-eaten and rejected on the bedside table - the milk browning and thickening as the day drags itself into evening. The mind becoming a churning, slithering mound of spaghetti that just won’t settle. Decaying relationships built partly from love of food ultimately deaden my appetite until it disappears and all i want to do is sit and think and chew endlessly on air.
(but, again)
Men look don’t they?
And if I say ‘no’ and I would prefer to wear baggy clothes, then why can’t that be fine too? A bottle of water costs possibly nothing. And yeah, it’s fine to say no; no need to say thank you. Do you think you’ll feel safe? The squirmy, itchy, inconvenience of having no money - let’s stop talking. It’s depressing me.