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.

my mascot

magnificent

bonito baby monkey suit

sang my song

’til there was no green left to run on

go team

confetti showers

ignited superpowers

on the pitch

bright as floodlights

until that gerrard-esque slip

knocked my head off

like a molotov

all in all

it’s my fault

lo siento

dropped the tempo

fumbled the winning try

let it die

didn’t put magic dust in your eyes

it is what it is

more or less

happiness is within

not a league table

or anyone else

…or so someone said

(then why am i so f***ing depressed?)

err, i guess

just thank you

i’ll cheer from the sidelines

and back you

as you form a new team

with trophy-winning dreams

x

behind boards in a burrow

butterfly boy

karma king

sets down his cloudy jewel jersey

needs a moment

with his memories and mementos

nibbled nails to the cuticles

fortified a hidey-hole in the forest for a necessary funeral

an underground regeneration station

he’ll sleep until spring

until all this melts away

heated clean by sunbeams

and the ground glistens

more comebacks than a cup competition

stops buzzing bugs in their tracks like an aerosol-induced heart attack

the palpitation prince

will regenerate and soar like a swift when the radiation shield switch clicks

an autodidact

in fact

an architect of cyclical crescendos

and sealing windows

now let’s celebrate with some party poppers and drinks

here’s to the ninth life of the sphynx

…fly high