stuck fast…thoughts of the other woman

Bad Acid

I’m offering it out there
Free Plate
Dying to see your face.
It’s been an hour and there’s no response and I know I’ve done it all wrong.
I’m full of old acid and cat piss.
A weekend where I can see you amongst the sunflowers and cry at my pathetic hallucination.
Still writhing on this sea of feelings,
It still won’t dry up or go down the drain.
Prickly skin and eyes that can’t focus on anything anymore.
I can’t read signs around the city and I keep turning the wrong way.
Travelling is too hot.
Coming down from pills is too hot.
It’s far too hot waiting for your reply.

A drop in the Ocean

Sometimes I get this urge to talk to you but then I remember that I can’t.
You’re not mine.
You seem like a different person now,
I’m just in love with your memory,
Your ghost.
Best friends who have become strangers.
An old feeling,
A terminal sickness,
Something that is always there and now only sometimes rears it’s ugly head.

The worst feeling in the world is feeling unwanted by the person you want the most.


I keep feeling guilty and angry. I long for a quick and easy solution like landing that winning lottery ticket or just lading on my face in front of a train. I often think how the city rats can find the strength to hurl themselves over the yellow line? Their poor, brave demise is another’s daily interruption.
The house smells of old barbeque, like someone has grilled a cat and made a woody perfume from its fur. I’ve given up the battle of trying not to live like a student. I want to be surrounded by bottles of wine that haven’t been drained, by cushions that don’t smell of feet and by people whose skin isn’t turning grey.
I’ve been listening to those old songs that remind me of better times. Those times when we were all together and drunk and dancing to quick words from California, happy in the promise of the change. Now I look back and I miss the browner grass. I miss Sam and Duncan dancing like wind up soldiers in the stained living room. I miss feeding everybody on balanced plates across knees and waking dogs through druggie-filled parks.
I miss the old pubs and the rubbish clubs and taking cocaine from toilet seats.
I miss the arsey band conversations and fluffing my way through names I couldn’t pronounce.
I miss that stupid damp room of Seb’s where we enjoyed each other for hours and get told off by his landlady for canoodling in the garden.
But most of all I miss you.
I miss you so much I feel so hollow.
Like a torn scab or a table eaten by insects.
I’ve tried to clinically cap my emotions in for so long that only you can shake any feeling out of me again.
Things aren’t glittering anymore and I love the city and hate the city for it not holding you in it’s palm.
It’s so easier to be bitter and it’s hard to keep wallowing in my self pity and trepidation.
I just miss how you make me feel when I am with you.
No city or memory can make me feel as wonderful.


Lying amongst baldy patches of grass,
Turning in the sun like an aggressive cat
Contemplating filling skin with ink and falling in love.
I keep imaging you on my doorstep,
Smelling of leather with purple stained lips of wine.

The garden isn’t attended to anymore,
My nails and elbows make this too hard to type
Dancing with rappers dripping in gold
The satisfaction of white washing on the line
Songs that change the pace and the dreams of this lazy day.

The garden step tripped him up again,
He finally awoke at 3pm.
I hide my rolls of fat
And sketch her face on my forearm
He shouts at someone on the phone and skids away
All flat fat feet with hairy toes.
His voice makes me jerk from my head
His choice is easy
His choice is too miserable and too cold for a grass dreamer


A dream here:
Both sat under a river.

And with that I drink.

I drink so much I drown.
Drown the fact that I love you,
Drown the fact that everyday feels wrong,
Drown the fact that you are chained,
Drown the fact that I am so utterly miserable,
Drown the fact that cowardice rules my life.

I’d drown myself but I cannot leave you swimming alone,
Treading water until some tides turn,
Until the sky and the blue unite,
And all is well in the world again.


I often dream of dark clubs with pink lights, the places of dreams and drinks, where money rains from the sky like strips of glitter. I can picture myself, slow moving and mystical like a smoking witch, turning and staring at you, who happens to be looking at me. Cliché and free – it’s what I think of at night when my soul takes that sickness and runs with it. It’s okay, when it’s that bad I can escape in that high melody and that clear unreality.
The sickness has been getting worse lately. Bed won’t do. Booze won’t do and now that white powder makes my heart burn bitter instead of wonderfully judder.
He’s keeps hinting that I do too much. I want to just tell him that I’m not sure where to go and often I feel as if I’m trapped in a slimy brick well. Old moss and mould grow across the path that leads up and out into the daylight. I don’t want to admit that I’m actually just a princess in need of rescuing, one who is too proud to yell.
I’d probably sit on the cold floor in a puddle of death and smoke myself stupid, convinced that the spiralling rings will be seen by my friends who are really just as trapped as me, sat in the next well over.

dusty bottles

A fake sun smell that’s lingers on skin and makes pores gloop.
Wandering in the world.
Covered in it.
Frustrated that I’m stuck here and you’re free.
I’m not around this weekend. I decided to fill my time with old company and stale bottles.
Dusty glasses left on the shelf over the greasy fridge.
I had dreamt for so much more.
I had dreamt of slow motion looks and sizzling eyes.
Now I collapse on unwashed sheets and focus on my imaginary life.

A lost cause

I’m so alone in darkness and disappointment.
I don’t know who to love or what to do.
Feeling trapped in wire cages of my own folding.
I can see through the minuscule gaps the laughs and loves of others.
Turned up mouths and shining eyes that appear so foreign and out of reach to my own frosty pupils.
I can’t imagine happiness anymore, the giant on the other side of the wall. The troll under the bridge.
Growing hate like soft moss, growing insecurity and fear as ivy traps a house.
I’m a lost cause.
A man in a river with cement for feet.

The Reaping

It’s this crippling love for you
That has me spending so many nights alone.
Has me crawling on my knees around bars
Cigarettes sticking to my shins
Vivacious visions blurred and burnt with poisonous vapour.
This love that hangs like a thick hairy rope around my neck,
This love that will decide whether I swing,drop,fly or fall.
And it’s ever worse when you say those things.
Those calls that cause me to roll around cotton like a cat on heat
Those silences that swallow all our love you’s and could be’s
No pleasure repeated
A rocked beat of a heart that’s hoping and hurting and hunting.


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