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