i've put every part of my phone in a different drawer and now i'm leaving the room. i'm tired of being bound by time. let the church and the romans burn. i'm walking in a world that never gets dark. and i have no where to go and nothing to do. but i will find it.



crush;
subscription.
3 things;
newspapers,
handwashing clothes,
sex.

i'm sick of strangers being my friends and all my friends being strangers.

i just lost my job. the curtains are closed. but i'm almost sure it's raining. it's been five months and i still can't stop coughing. but now my eyes are closed. and it's really fucking nice to be with you today.

crush:
history.

surrounded. two nobodies are breaking up. and nobody is watching. and i am the nobody in the burgundy skirt. who is happy she doesn't have to tell anybody the story. Ian Curtis is telling me that love will tear us apart. i think he might be on to something. and she's crying. and i'm the worst person for these situations. so i leave her to search for comfort at the bottom of a glass. a fair few later and she still hasn't found it. and now i'm finding it quite hard to stand up. but my feet don't hurt anymore. and neither does my mouth. and in my hazy gait. i will walk her home. to take comfort on the floor. the door never knocks. and for all the squalor i have seen. this makes me feel something. i think how life is pivotal. i think of watching Vanilla Sky. i try to stop thinking. because that is my horror movie. and the room starts to move. and he keeps singing. and it just keeps spinning. and i just can't stop thinking. every passing moment. when we are both cats. another life. every passing moment. and he keeps singing. do you cry in your sleep?

3 things:
cheesecake,
warm cats,
taking off my shoes.

with my umbrella up the street lamps can't tell who i am. tonight i'm deaf. tonight the swallows peck my eyes. they mock me as they fly into the sun. leave me here to drown. leave me here to wallow. in this precipitate. i wish that i could still tell. what.

it's in the deepest cold. that i find you. maybe you are just like me. i can see that you are empty. your blood across the pavement. does stop me in my tracks. take my scarf friend. i regret i cannot stay. but i can tell in your colours you are young. and it is no way to die alone. so take my lying on this concrete. with you curled into my chest. as my statement that i am lost too. as i watch my own breath. we are like dragons in these leaves. did they fall to make our bed. or is it just the inevitability of winter. of the end. and every tear i'm losing now. is for a beat i wish your heart was making.

crush:
AmyApple.
3 things:
sex_on_fire,
postcards from a stranger in europe,
cake, of all kinds.

watch as they burn the wooden crosses. names spray painted. to represent your fallen sons. you're on my mind i'll admit. writhing. screaming through the ashes. and by day i see you guard your picket line. one last defence against the heart ache. against reality. march on children. but call me no Canute. because i don't know how to hold back. swallow your protest. taste the blood of those fallen. and bow to me. i am your fear. out of control. the last straw. but your first resort. surrender your children to me. i am your war.

crush:
kindness.
3 things:
kitkats,
6am trains,
sudoku.

welcome home. the stranger on your train. is just a replica of the stranger on your bus when you left this morning. the person on your phone. who keeps calling. and calling. is no one that you didn't leave behind. just pick them up when you get to the station. those lips you left at the door. are still waiting. and still think you look lovely. perhaps even lovelier. after your absence.


crush:
stranger on train.
3 things:
peach amore yoghurt,
birthday suspense,
sparkling flavoured water.

i have cherryade dehydration. the sweet desert that i have formed in the back of my throat is starting to make me choke. i don't need another lesson in osmosis to help me keep my cool. but i'm not the one sweating. right now it was midnight. and i forgot the story of why i had thirst.

she's handing me the Baileys to help me wash down my shot. strangers are always my best friends. and it's not how much you didn't sleep in like, 39 hours. it's who you didn't (or did) sleep with. i lick my lips when someone points a camera at me, then wipe the back of my hand across slowly to dry them. tonight the black cross reminds me where this all started. you're never too old for all this.