Cry Wolf

He was always in his room writing those things, never with people. I used to tell him, what good is all of that love doing on paper? I said, let love write on you for a little. But he was so stubborn. Or perhaps he was only timid.

Pull Your Little Arrows Out

I've been spending a lot of time trying to wish things into existence lately. The relationships I want, the intimacy, the money, the job, the dreams. I spend alot of time envisaging these little fantasies, fictional conversations and scenarios in my head. Even in these little reveries I still manage to fuck it up from time to time. Honestly, who, when they can play out any internal projection they want, chooses to imagine their own failure? FML yo'.

History keeps repeating itself, I keep falling, no, plummeting into old habits and making carbon copies of my mistakes, over and over again. If I haven't learnt by now, I don't know if I ever will.

Casual dating is for chumps. I am a chump.
Sleeping all day is for jerks. I am a jerk.
Spending money that isn't yours is irresponsible. I am irresponsible.
Accidently leaving you freezer door open when you go on a trip is plain idiotic. I am an idiot. Twice over.

In other news, I quit uni. I quit big time.
Hopefully next year I'll find something I can stick to, something I can stand.

Also I think I may have developed a smoker's cough. Not that I smoke. Is that possible? I think I need some friends that care about the state of my lungs.

I can't get to sleep, there is a Koala outside my window, and it won't stop fucking grunting. I know it's mating season, but sorry Mr Koala, you're grunting up the wrong tree, I simply don't swing that way.

I'm all over the place, all over the shop. My apologies, whoever you are.

-g



p.s incase I forget, happy holidays a little present for you.

two headed girl

My brain stretches out towards you, reaches for you, wraps itself around your bony edges and contours, your flat ass and freckley arms. Can you take this seriously? Will you ever want to team up and have catastrophic fights and easy laughter, flushed excitement and lazy afternoons lying on your living room floor? We can go to bed, fiercely serious or ridiculously silly, with our bodies so obviously ill-suited for eachother.
OR - we can stay friends, keep teaching eachother what it means to be in completely different places all the time, learning to laugh at ourselves more and more, swaping new favourite bands, knowing exactly what the other is thinking and never spilling a word. You're so kind sometimes, and it always surprises me because, I mostly remember the times you've broken my heart or lied for no reason, you rude bastard. Made me cry more times than I care to remember.
But still I love you, not always in same way as before. I know you do love me, I heard you whisper it one night when you thought I'd fallen asleep before you, but the truth is, whenever I sleep over I can't fall asleep before I've heard your soft snores murmuring in my ear.
Plus, you're beautiful, or handsome, I should say. Do people tell you that? Your girlfriends, for example? The way you move is AMAZING. And the lines of your body too. You should get that tattoo, I wouldn't be able to stop myself then. Are you blushing yet?
I love you!
Jerk.
- grace

Nothing and Nowhere is Golden

The thing I like the most about being content, is they way the sun feels. How the little rays make you want to smile like a Cheshire cat, and how the sunlight becomes hopefulness incarnated into a seemingly solid thing. It just makes your head buzz better than any drug, you know? When things feel all honey glazed and carbonated, and you’re just smiling because of what’s to come. But then there is that little tickle of worry at the back of your mind. Just in case a thread comes loose and everything falls to the ground. But you brush it away, just for now, just so you can enjoy the moments, even if they remain brief ideas, so as to enjoy your slow moments of contentedness.



Everything is so lovely here. I wish you were here to share it.

Open Water

"Do you ever get scared?” I asked; I traced my fingers along the sand.
“Of what?” you replied; you made mountains out of the grains.
“Of everything” I answered; I buried my fingers in between yours .
“Yes” you whispered; you crushed each mound we made.


“Do you ever wish you were someone else?” I asked; I tasted the water with my toes.
“Forever, or just for a day?” you replied; you dived in the waves head first.
“Forever” I answered; I cupped the white caps in my hands.
“Yes” you whispered; you wiped the salt water from your eyes.


“Do you ever get up but not wake up?” I asked; I held my shoes in one hand.
“In the morning or in the night?” you replied; you held your arms out to keep your balance.
“Anytime of day” I answered; I walked barefoot along the pier.
“Yes” you whispered; you fell off the edge and rippled the water.


“Do you ever say you love someone, when you don't?” I asked; I tried to count the stars.
“Anyone, or you?” you replied; you picked a thread from my jeans.
“Me” I answered; I closed my eyes and swallowed.
“yes” you whispered; you held your hand out and cried when I still took it.

Wish List

Oh and an amazing new haircut wouldn't go astray either.

Poster of a girl

Blood cells blossom on my neck. Teeth and tongue have stained my skin with this impermanent bage of hollow honour, which I wear with a sweep of nature's rouge on each cheek. Under this love bitten blemish an ugly little thrill breeds and travels underground, like a pinball in a flashing arcade game. This thrill, this fickle friend, I think he looks for you; in the curve of my spine, in the shallow pool of my belly's button, on the tip of a nippled mountain. Come thrill me again. But you fade. Like the lovebite, you fade. And when all is swept away, all that can remain is the shadow of your soul on my bed sheets, and the unbearable taughtness of skin in the moments between sleeping and waking, when the moonlight plays it's mind tricks, and I realise you aren't here at all.

Disguising Mistakes With Goodbyes

It’s one of those nights.
Where I can’t form sentences, that mean anything but nothing.
Because I can’t think.
Because all of my thoughts are swollen with my own problems.
Things that I don’t want to write about.
Things that I’m too scared to write about.

Because truth is a delicate game.
And I don’t want to hurt anyone.
I never ever wanted to hurt anyone.
And even here, and now, my words get poisoned with my distractions.
I don’t want you to know anything, other than I’m sorry.
And if I had a choice, I would choose not to be here either.
We’d all be better off, wouldn’t we?

And as tempted as you are to say yes to that, I really wish you would say no.
I want that so badly. I want everything that the storybooks promised us.
I want each moment, and each lie, captured and framed.
I can’t leave here. Not yet.

I’m not awake yet.

And I can't understand why I don't understand why you say the things you do.
Maybe I don't want to understand. I want to be alive. Not forever, just for now.

Bubble and Squeak

I’ve always hated unnecessary lies and the people who make them, but lately I’m finding it increasingly hard to even be honest with myself.

The sad truth is that I’m not a child anymore, and I have to sleep in the bed that I have so uncomfortably, and sometimes poorly, made for myself. I’m tall enough to open up the pantry door and feed myself, wise enough to use matches and light fires, and old enough to answer the door to strangers and let them into my life. Soon I’ll have to vote and start paying taxes, get a decent job, buy a house, maybe find a suitable male and squeeze out a few kids while I’m at it. And honestly, because I am being completely honest aren’t I, this has me totally and utterly fucking terrified.

Out of the fry pan, and into the fire.

I’m finally starting to step out of my own little bubble of optimism and naivety, and am beginning to realise that not everyone has my best interests at heart. I’m not saying everyone has it in for me, far from it; it’s just that, above all we all count ourselves as number one and it’s taken me a more than a little while to come to grips with this.

We’re self obsessed, financially irresponsible and flick erratically between sexual repression and reckless hedonism. On the surface we’re ‘totally not cool’ with racism, bigotry, gender stereotypes or repression of any sort. Underneath it all we still harbour watered down versions of our parent’s views, doused heartily in layers of guilt and self reproach. That’s what the theorists say about us anyway, and probably our therapists too. We are Gen Y, and we are lost. Plus, we can’t keep our shit together.

Oh, and don’t worry, when I say ‘we’, I really mean me. It’s just easier to self-confess when you think everyone else has the same problems you.

If Wishes Were Fishes

Down the stairs from your apartment

We lingered by your driveway gate

I didn't quite know what would be too much

Or just enough

But I knew

I wanted to

Touch you

We ran out of things to say goodbye about

So I shut up and you kissed me on the mouth

I snagged a couple more as I walked through that door

And then I waved

Linear thinking doesn't come easily

Sometimes I think about dying. I think about using it as revenge, I think about using it to make people love me more, or again, but then I realise how fucking ridiculous I am, that if I couldn't make someone care while I was alive, then I sure as hell can't make someone care while I'm dead.
It's not always me.

I hate the politics of people and relationships, the way everything needs defining, the rules and regulations that we mandatorily impose on one another. The way things become so final kills me. Why can't I call you up anymore when I have news? Last night I saw a movie that reminded me of someone I used to know. I wanted so badly to message them, to tell them all about it, but I knew I couldn't, that I wasn't 'allowed to'. Well why the fuck not? We're both adults, I have your number, it's been 2 fucking years now.
I'm too old for this.

I have no real reason to be sad. Or angry. People have hurt me, and god knows I've hurt them back. I guess Karma and I are on an even kilter right now. In person I never really let anyone see me anything but joyful. I tend to bottle things up, not because I don't have the words or the ability to communicate my heart, but because I hate putting people out, making them feel awkward. And I suppose if I'm honest because I can't stand owing anything to anyone.
I wish I wasn't so proud.

This train of thought is failing me. Linear thought is my weakness, I can never stay on point.

I'm going to go pour myself a drink.

Lover, you shouldn't have come over.

Last night I had a dream that we hadn't seen each other in months and months. I spy you from across the room of a dark club, one like all the others. We makes those sad half smiles old lovers make, and then I lift up my hand telling you to hold still a minute. I order two Sidecars and make my way over to you. You go to kiss me on the cheek, but I pull away. I whisper something in your ear, then we cling to one another, a slow lung crushing hug. I kiss you on the cheek, run my hand over your hair. You say you've missed me. I take a sip of my drink, hand it to you, and walk away.

I really should stop eating so much cheese before going to bed.

I'm Always The One Who Calls

I'm sorry to leave you right at the begining, it's just that I'm so afraid of the end.

You've got the kind of face that makes my heart faster, and now because of this I'm always the one who calls first.

Maybe if you could assure me a little bit stronger, it'd be easier for me to stay still for once.

But instead I'm feeling flighty and completly insecure.

I want nothing more than to learn your everything, your hidden hopes, but you're making me that special kind of nervous, so there'll be no story swapping any time soon.

I'm sorry to have to leave you so early.

I could have loved you forever, I'm sure of it.

you've won me over, with your blasphemy, so heartfelt

Confession #4

i check my palms, the cracks in the sidewalk

I keep telling,
Whomever might be listening,
That waking up in the morning,
Might not be such a terrible thing,
But they're too busy crunching in the wind

Lay Down Your Arms

facious lamellious?

Confession #3

Confession #2

Sent to A.Bond

Confession #1

Sent to S.Williams