07.10
over 30 working feel like I am outside time and
feel like this IS history and
I am meddling in lives and
am a water stained photo album
no one wrote
the
names
in.
she mistakes dead nerves for paranoia
and asked me how I feel but
you can’t SAY.
NEVER SAY
really
how
you
feel.
don’t know if I’m drinking to feel some melancholy buzz some love and soft enthusiasm
for nature in the broadest sense
or to kill feelings of crippling doubt
and the
mad emptiness
of
RIGHT
NOW.
leave her stained in the bed
go to the spare room I write in
get out a black hunting knife
run my fingers over
the dried fruit juices
on
the
blade.
80s MOR coming out the kitchen radio only moves me to miss themed video games* not the school discos
I
never
went
to.
too young I went to one one town over and alone and frightened I left and waited in silence on my uncles leather sofa
till
I
was
fetched away.
no one knew why and over 30 now I reminisce alone
mad enough to think
I’m drinking the tears of a
mermaid hooker
100
years
old
today.