When you suggested meeting again
the next day
I thought to myself
‘OK I’ve hit the jackpot
he’s keen to see me again
so I must have wowed’
Didn’t stop to think
‘did he wow me?’
Tag: relationships
Texts like dopamine
Living for these horny Monday nights beneath the moonlight
going from Mazzy Star to Supertramp and Aerosmith in between
writing down my feelings, letting them spill out onto the page
as neighbours eat ramen and melt minds with screens.
Lava lamp doused in hot pink, room bursting with colour
and trinkets glowing in their places.
Your messages trickle in and send beeps to my brain
(and something else to my pants).
Dinner with friends and heartbreak.
She has suction-cupped herself
to this balding commitment phobe
words tangled like spaghetti
smacking against her mouth
as we bow our heads over Bao Buns
in Borough.
A feast punctuated by a clamour of solidarity
as we bite into lumpy discs of fried chicken
and ferocious nods, laughs in odd numbers
the desperation of dating
and the deafening roar of ‘he’s not worth it’.
Shady dreams
Dancing with the idea I might like
That tousled fro
Those 121s that drip with laughter
And those pre-sleep minutes doused in the hot flames of a fantasy.
Distressed by the thought
Of upsetting you
Of playing second fiddle
To another
Of watching you sidle up, delicate hand outstretched
Helpful words cascading from your tongue.
Playing with the idea of biting your earlobes
Jaded, sepia hours spent in an apartment
You cooking, innocent
Turning dangerous, unable to bear the air ablaze with passion.
Crooked arms and tangled feet and bodies slapped together like ham onto bread
Wet from the heat, hot wafts of wheat.
Smile sticky with sweetness
And good intentions
That curtsy before me in every catch up.
A hazardous week
I have been knocked over this week
Like pins at a bowling alley
Kicked and thrashed
Battered against the back
Of that mysterious black bit
You can’t see behind
Throttled by failure
Plagued by faux pas
And today I am supposed to dust
Myself off and present the shiniest
Brushed aluminium version of myself
To a total stranger
Desperately seeking an escape route
A respite for this mangled brain.
Dirty puddles
I’ve been sitting in this chair
for what feels like eternity
this crusty, scabby armchair
with spiders’ webs for decor
and the scent of mustard-soaked dirty socks
dripping their Dijon all over the fabric
they might end up burying me in this chair
epitaph reading “Killed by The Game”
long sleeves fingering the armrest
gripping on for dear life
like I’m on some sort of rickety ghost train.
I’ve spent more time waiting for you
than I have queuing at Tesco in my whole life
I was promoted quicker
I graduated quicker
than the time it’s taken you to reach out.
Hungry regret is eating away at me
rage bubbles like bone broth
loneliness creeps in
offering up its bitter taste
(if that’s all you bring to the table, then forget it)
I’m on this eternal cosmic pogo stick
yo-yoing to and fro to the rhythm
of that beep, buzz, ring.
I’m full of what ifs, I’m bleeding desperation
and fumbling about for reasons in my mind’s dust
completely invented, untrue
you’re about as clear as clouds
leaving me to create my own weather.
All I can say is it’s stormy and wet
and I want to leave this armchair
before I start to decay
loneliness keeps me locked in
while the floor floods with a sea of what ifs
the eye of heartbreak drawing closer and closer
and swiftly punching me in the jaw.
Notes 30/8
You’re leaving me haggard and quivering
I didn’t realise the extent of my obsession
The length of my lust
The pitiful preparedness wilting
I was never ready, it seems, to do battle
To tread these muddy, murky waters
And fight for breath beneath a rough surf
You’ve left me to wonder, sit, pensive
Write words of passive aggression
And mumble to myself on jaunts to green spaces
Confusion mounts and I’m throwing up fear in a rainbow-hued dizzying spell of colours
I’m wobbling, while tensions mount
Grasping my phone like it’s a tank of oxygen
Almost wishing away the long weekend because it’s all too painful
To ingest
Too exhausting
To swallow.
Notes 29/8
I don’t think it’s crazy to yearn for that dalliance
Me who always shunned settling
Forgot about the ecstasy lining the stomach
Of that faded firework
Burning brightly, licked like a lolly
The sleepover invitation
Fibbing to the folks
Getting dressed up at the step mum’s pad
Lies that taste sweet as Pink Ladies
Guilt tripping me over, loosening my laces
It’s just but it’s loathsome
Difficult to pin down
The in between time, the shuttling back from dating alley of lover’s beach
The eternal guessing game
That clips my wings and stunts my feelings
That hamster wheel forever rolling, stuck in its mindless mesh
And what if I want to get off?
What if I’ve had enough?
Thudding to a stop, wheel burns a mark in the pavement
And what if I want to get back on?
Stepping back into this scrambled wheel yet again.
Outside and warm
There’s something to be said
For sitting on rattan chairs and looking up
At a tie dyed sky
The same inky blue I saw in a dress earlier
The one I added to basket but never checked out
This is a sky of another era, a time
When we rode like ghosts on American highways
Legs pressed up against the dashboard
Podcast blaring nonsense
Gently slipping into sleep
Half expecting to hit a deer
That fear every time we rounded a bend
Or you vroomed a little too callously
A cacophony of screeching, and my brain doing somersaults
Playing out the poor deer’s death
And this balmy air also smacks of times in Spain
By the sea where we built our lives
And had a fridge full of food
And money in the bank
Dusted pink sunsets trickling down to the seafront
Paellas baked fresh, inches from the seabed
Tummies content and hankering for margaritas on Friday nights
Warm all the time
Flip flops flung over shoulders
Walks down to the beach and then back to Lidl
For a feast
Work was still a drag, head filled with dread
Every fucking Sunday night
Like some stupidly mundane weekly ritual
The brain bashing, self inflicted fear and loathing in Las Palmas
I was still afflicted like I am now
But those balmy sun dappled evenings
Grinning on terraces
Stuck like insects in a treacly loveless web
Boy was it good sometimes.
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.
Talking to my pillow. 