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The Tonic

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I’m always missing somebody
and exercising control – muscle flexing with a burn

A steady smile, you like it?

Drunk on laughter, wine sodden
with odd socks sleeping on my skin, sweeping the floor like they’re made for it

I sit cross legged with a tambourine
but it is you that shakes like you’re convulsing

Two left feet, twirling you in circles and me in contentment

To this wonderfully strange, new beat

The Last Dance

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What is that, lingering on my tongue whilst you smoke rings of thunder through the air?

This garden is busy – birds bursting with song in twilight hours, as if to lift a heavy heart 

But there is no music in the sky tonight, just the stench of starvation

Hunger for before, between then and now – this very minute

And I, sat here with nothing but memories to feast on

Quietly look upon your face and see contentment

You have no appetite – no fire 

and your skin is blue with cold

Puppetry

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I live in shapes 

Geometry 
not gifted here. I bend and fold

Contortionist

but my back breaks, the mask – it
slips 

fingers pull strings through wounded flesh

And my mouth is sewn with a
needle and thread

A scream locked in

The dance begins

Attention

I spend most times, locked up with myself
in a crowd of people

Hearing lines of pearled words and wishing they were precious

I like you.

You draw me out

And I listen

Contrition 

I forget the name, the place
but never the breeze – nor the blaze of your eyes as I muttered something
that amused you.
Our cheeks quickened in colour – the heat of burning wood
and us, together

That scene, it sings your name

pursed lips that said I was stupid but you liked it

No sence remains. It’s your birthday and I’m shut up behind you, like all the ones before

Flickers of past, like old photographs

but we don’t dance in arms coiled like the strangers in pictures
though we bathe in their stagnant silence – having no words but walls, walls so tall that I no longer know how to reach you

To teach myself how to climb

And there’s so much that remains
unsaid, undone.
Longing – lingering on the stonework
seeping quietly as buds of before blossom, murdering the very mortar of our seperation
providing hope for future flowers

It’s why I sit here, chisel in hand

It’s your birthday, again. I’m to blame and I miss you. Quietly.

Behind closed doors.

Dream

I had a pretty vivid dream last night and it went a lot like this…

I walked into my kitchen, pretty messy as usual but that was not the issue. The real issue was as I opened the fridge door and was greeted to nothing but a few carrots and half an onion.

I shut the door, wondering why I kept half an onion and why I still let it live there, in its current state.

Jump cut – suddenly, I’m at the Asda. Specifically, I’m just reaching the frozen food aisle. As I approach the freezers ahead, I see a man looking into the lower shelves. It’s Paul McCartney.

I was like, ‘Wow, you’re Paul McCartney.’ And he continued to look at the frozen food. ‘What you doing in the Asda, Paul?’ He explained he was checking if Linda’s range was still stocked. I nodded as if that was completely understandable.

So I sort of watched him for a few seconds, scrutinising what was for sale. All of a sudden I found myself saying , ‘Paul, I hate to do this – I’d rather ask you something else but if I do, nobody will believe it. Not without a photo.’

He smiled and put his arm around me whilst I took a photo of us, in front of a load of frozen food. ‘I wish I had my guitar with me, you could’ve signed it.’

Jump cut again – Me and Paul McCartney were sat in my dining room and I was playing my newly signed guitar whilst he ate one of the scones from the table. He was eating it like a bit of a pig and had cream around his mouth.

Then I woke up.

Bit weird…but non too unpleasant.

Words On Paper

My boy, you creep inside my skin

You look so pretty

Unsure where you and I begin

and where you leave me

I feel rain

I feel rain

I feel rain, more’s the pity

See me drown in your campaign

No chance of winning

I feel pain, I feel pain, I feel pain

I am bleeding

Cocooned in your sweater, all bloody stained

lose, never leading

writing letters to fix the blame

it’s all the same

It’s all the same. I feel rain

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