As I sit here, gaze flickering,
From pool to people, beautifully blond beaus
Pushing prams around tiles soaked in cloud, not sun,
(Because it’s November so go figure)
The pangs of loneliness surface
But then promptly retreat, like smiling Pennywises
Dipping back into a drainy kingdom
Tag: creative writing
From very high to very low
Today was a day of mammoth contrasts
when the good met the bad and then the ugly
and I found myself struggling to claw my way out of
a cylindrical hole
my feelings had pushed me into.
I think I broke part of my brain because this oxymoron was so loud
and moronic, true to its name
I think the bits of flesh couldn’t handle two juxtaposed giants
vying for my attention
I’d like to think they had equal chances but it’s clear the bad had the upper hand
the smirking winner
the bad took control and the good lay flaccid and dull
under a dreary spotlight
incredible praise met with steamrolling terror
that glides over you like you’re a wannabe pancake
making mince meat or mashed potato out of my head
an unbelievable contrast that collided against my skull
and I haven’t been able to think straight since.
Fizzy Sundays
Sun pours from the sky’s kettle
making everything drip with warmth
outside there’s a rattle and a clang
the window shakes with the passing of buses
sitting inches on the pavement below
burning their rubber into the road’s pores
burping up toxic gases
that I’ll beckon into my lungs when out for a run.
The Sunday air is quiet and creamy
writing from my bed feels eerily perfect
ahead of a week of probable worry
mind ready to melt
like an ice lolly
body like a train chugging towards burnout.
A year has passed and you’re back in my DMs
you got your foot in the door
yet again, a beautiful ghost at it
once more
starve you, I tried
there’s whispers you care and you
want to make things right
but I throttle those whispers
they slip lifelessly into unconsciousness
I’m lighting my tongue on fire
just talking to you
but it’s not the same adoration
lingering like perfume
in the air
not the
drop-everything-lets-text-back
frenzy that once furrowed by brow
made me mad with “love”
drunk on lust
in fact
I couldn’t give a fuck.
The expectations we place on ourselves
Why don’t you loosen the reins
A gentle tug to prompt
Purpley, sunburnt
Sooty shackles to the ground.
Why don’t you lower the bar
Before it slices your head clean off
Making you wander
Like some mad headless chicken.
Why don’t you point the gun down
So your temples can stop
Throbbing
And your glands
Can start acting up.
Why don’t you let your smile fade
Take it off like boots after a hard
Day’s grind
Slip sweaty socks off
And leave them on the landing
Feel your gums breath again
Feel your teeth
Whisper thank you.
I can’t get anything done when the sun’s shining
The sun throws me off scent
It’s a major distraction that colours my skin red and my head cloudy
Prompts paracetamol ingestion
Stops me from working
I can’t write when the sun’s out
It’s like a magnet drawing me away from my desk
Patio porn, the slabs are tinted and sparkling
Sibling reclining on chair, forehead glistening
A sign of heat, akin to holiday
Swap grind for grass
I’m lying on a towel half naked
Singeing my skin
(but consoled in that I’ve got Bondi sands factor 50 on order)
Digital marketing certificate doesn’t get a look in
When I’m grappling with a heated tug of war
And getting a tan is so important
(I’m not entirely sure why)
Another half hour I say, and then I’ll buckle down
Bent over a keyboard
But it rarely happens and by the time inspiration sparks
I’m sprawled on the sofa
The last of the sun dripping through the window
Watching This Country.
talking to my pillow. 