It doesn’t matter how slowly you go, as long as you don’t stop.
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.
Life, in HD
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.
i prayed for help a few times, but i think the devil answered
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.
backwards/forwards
On my knees, staring into the lake, something stares back, but it’s not a reflection of my face. It’s a montage of a failed future in which I didn’t fight to decide my own fate.
Paradaisu
On the diamond escalator with my energy orb, smiling. I’ll leave it at the door.
I don’t hate people, I just ain’t feeling demons
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.
luvSong1 (crushOnU)
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.
luvSong3 (zorbing)
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.
knockAndRun
I kick doors in, splinter shanked leg, all I ever see is more doors ahead.
White House, White Coats
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.