First name, starts with L

Middle name, ends with L

Surname, ain’t got no L

But might as well

Taking Ls

Facing L

Life, starts with L

Death, ain’t got no L

Unless it’s hell

Then double L

Take that L

Hold that L

Swallow Ls

Tales to tell

Or curl up

In a shell

Shudder

Another

Double L

When gladiators

Emerged from cells

Faced armoured lions

Few prevailed

Claws and canines

Impaled

Left entrails

Like snail trails

But if you fight

Ain’t no L

Hero

Has no L

Legends

Teleport to cornfields

Leaking L juice

Looking pale

Win or fail

L

Love, L

Loss, L

Two sides of an L

Sheer on one

The other has a tail

Turn your head

Like The Exorcist

Snap some bits

Off a crucifix

It makes an L

It’s all just perspective

It’s all just Ls

Ls link as chains

As DNA

Erase eras like the Antonine plague

And from the …

Comes wings

Comes new days

Even when you think an L is done bro

Still have to hold it

Like taking L plates off a Volvo

So roll with the combos

Gauze/glass glove blows

Lacerated

Appreciative

Yup

Ls on Ls on Ls

Face your Ls

Take your Ls

Hold your Ls.

On first name terms

With a small horse named Bonnie

By the park

She comes when I rattle the fence

Black with a white racing stripe

Hair anklets

And ilvaite eyes

She doesn’t seem to mind

The flies

Drawn to her pretty face

I feed her reduced carrots from Sainsbury’s

(20 pence)

I want to tell Bonnie, that recently, I’ve been questioning whether some of my memories actually came from reality

Or have bled into me

Through weird wires and dreams

Or intravenous icicles

Inception spears in the meat sphere

Basically

Been struggling to separate time and space, like church and state

Multiple mistakes exacerbate my tendency to conflate what’s real and what ain’t

A state

But she don’t wanna hear all that jazz

She just wants what’s in the bag

(So pop the plastic)

To be honest, I’m glad

It’s a waste of air being sad

Long live Bonnie

She’s the best

(Gon’ be aight, gon’ be aight)

X.

it wasn’t my intention to sleep through another morning/day/weekend/opportunity. i feel terrible heading into monday. again. maybe it’s always been this way.

scratch that, start again.

it wasn’t my intention to sleep through another…

*eye twitch*

*the pages are empty*

i have a list of goals for the year, pinned in the corner of the whiteboard above my desk with small square magnets. i thought that, maybe, some focus would stop the muffled taunts in my head.

+sulfur+

i’ve come a long way. you could say that i have absolutely nothing to worry or complain about anymore. that’s true in some ways. but in all the ways that matter, i’m a complete mess.

i’ve prayed a few times in my life. in 2011, to get on a graduate scheme. at airports. drunk and alone on an abandoned plot of land at 3am. i think they are turning that land into offices now.

i don’t drink anymore. it’s been 103 days.

my asks were ‘small’, and generally, granted. get the job. don’t die in a plane crash. other things i’d rather not go into.

recently i woke up dead. again.

in the background i can hear sparse, slowed piano keys__-___—_

the constant headaches make me go cross-eyed.

i’ve been on my own my whole life. even when i’ve been with others. i can never relax.

xx

i think i’ll give it another go. i’m really not sure how many more goes i have left in me. 1 more at least. for old times’ sake.

i’ll summon something from within, instead of spinning the wheel with an unknown entity.

if/when you pray, don’t make it about you all the time. it’s best to not ask for selfish things from something you can’t see or understand.

there’s a price. and you always pay. 1 way or another.

always.

Outsider

Outlaw

Outcast

Ripped jean knee draft

Inside

Out of sight

Out of light

Out of line

On the outside looking in

Since the first sand grain

Since that bell chimed

Sir star slime

Darkest of circles

D3 deficient

Snow life

Nocturnal

Skin white as Persil

Pout, night scout

No doubt

Way out of touch

Rarely leave the house

Maybe once every drought

’Cos out dere is alienz

It’s safer on the couch.

i kno u worry

’bout

ur

neighbours

’cos the sounds we make

r

outrageous

i got a crush on u

baby

i got a crush on u

baby

smells like all kinda fruit

rate the way

u

do

u

i got a crush on u

baby

i got a crush on u

baby

i don’t do trust

that

well

but i can pretend

i’m confident

in

myself

i got a crush on u

baby

i got a crush on u

baby

don’t be

mistaken

them chiefs

ain’t

got

na-thin

yeah, they might have a crush on u

but they all

dead

food

i got a crush on u

baby

i got a crush on u

baby

in time

when

this

fades

it will stay

stuck

in

ur

brain

work the whole damn line

baby

take all the damn time

baby

pillow talk

2

a new prince

share ur thoughts

ask what he thinks

but it can’t be the same

u know what i’m sayin’

as when i had a crush on u

baby

and u had a crush on me 2

baby.

zorbing

with apparitions

downhill

little sprats

and krill

drawn to dance

water maggots

look so appealing

on liquid crystal ceilings

hooked

then killed

shedding tiny shiny skins

under the crude force

of melted toothbrush/razor shivs

all eyes on the fire movement

but

the interest didn’t compound

(so sad)

man down

bring out the baby violins

in this bubble

old words resound

memories echo

and lacerate

maybe should get a grip

maybe should put a pin in it

hellraiser head

future boy

KAPOW!

fall out naked

roll red

into a ridge

see if these old knees have any give

race back to the top

have another shot

this time

without the see-through scotch egg casing

or mask

or fear

or doubt

just the will to be in the moment

happy and loud

heaven’s own hospital patient

clawed out the crash

with an extra ink tear.

I think I’ve been here a week.

A sprawling set of sanitised squares.

They say I wasn’t acting right, which is funny, because I don’t remember ever acting any other way.

They can keep me here for 28 days, but will assess me before the end, and I could be detained under ‘section 3’ for longer.

I’m not sure what ‘longer’ means, but it doesn’t sound good.

At around 7.00 a.m. each day, doors beep and click-clack open. We are pretty free to wander, but there are some non-negotiable ceremonies and activities: scoffing magic hair mouth pills, repetitive 1-2-1 ‘chats’, and various group sessions.

The dry man that conducts my 1-2-1 chats is a right piece of work.

Today, he ticked through what felt like a deliberately exhausting list of questions and prompts. All of them unwelcome. Some of the more triggering ones were: “How would you describe your relationship with your family?” - “Do you enjoy being around large groups of people?” - “Tell me about a time you were upset.”

At the end I asked him if he was happy that his life’s work was basically playing Connect 4 with chemical criteria checkers.

I also asked him if he thought his emotions were real.

He wasn’t happy.

It’s safe to say I won’t get out of here soon if he has anything to do with it.

I’ve heard if you try to fly, and they scoop you up, you get the straps and the syringe.

It used to be the watt wig or a scalping, but apparently those methods aren’t considered humane anymore, whereas poison bondage is.

Screw it.

I’ve decided it’s worth a shot.

Feathers won’t be a problem, there’s enough peacocks in this life.

I just need to keep the wax away from the sun.

Wish me luck.

God knows I need it.