You, again.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget I am a living breathing human. 

Occasionally I feel like a pork chop in the butcher’s window, just waiting. 

Have I ever told you being single is harder at the weekend? 

Me saying “don’t get it on my face” made it instantly soft. 

I’m sorry if I should be less vocal with any complaints. I’ve never been an extra-marital fuck. 

My pleasure is often impeded by wondering what your kids look like, so please stop assuming I can come on demand.

Have I ever told you being single is like being trapped in a room with yourself? And there are no windows to gaze out of, only piles of dirty clothes and empty voids.

I want to get sucked into a portal, eat ice cream on the beach, and then go fuck something. 

It’s hard to stop wondering why you haven’t called.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll go throw myself off a bridge to check I’m still alive, if that’s not too dramatic for you.

Maybe you’ll stop being an arsehole and we can all move on.

Dear Sylvia

Dear Sylvia  

I am listening to the bray of my heart and I am,

I am,

I am, ok.

I am eating breakfast as if it were my last and not feeling the slightest bit elated.

I am a man in baggy black workwear on the tube annihilating a bag of family sized popcorn 

I am listening to your words and wishing I could adhere

I am living my days to the fullest and hoping

I am waiting for a train that hopefully will never turn up 

I am wondering if it’s possible I will feel this way forever, and if so, I am feeling hopeless.

I am.

I am staring at your smug pouting mouth and knee highs whilst wishing you adversity; unfortunately 

I am wishing ill upon all as I reach three-day-hangover territory. 

I am wishing I hadn’t seen you today using the tone that only I can stop you employing.

I am staring into space and asking myself repeatedly, what am I going to do now?

I am still the reindeer stood coyly at the buffet table.

I am trying.

I am.

I am.

I am.

Together We Are Wider Than Anything.

We stood up and measured ourselves against everything we could find. We measured the tips of our fingers to the points of our elbows and compared them to the panels in the wooden doors, lining them up precisely; edging palms up, straightening each ulna. We took the edges of each eye and we spun and spun until we knew exactly how many Mississippi’s it took eye to eye around the backs of our living minds. How tall are you compared to this fern? Here, let me place your finger in the crack of the wooden floorboard. It’s but a fingernail wide; the baby, that is. Where is your nose in relation to this light switch? We compared ourselves to the world and this we did every Sunday; Our only way to distinguish between life and death.

The Mighty Catfish.

The mighty catfish sunk to the floor

It sunk so far it could go no more

And then one day it saw the light

Saw the light and decided to fight.

It raised one whisker up from the sea bed

Raised it way, way above it’s head.

It said, “Hey World, I think it’s time

To stand up and to take what’s mine!”

And sooner or later it was flying high

Flying high in the media industry up in the sky.

Every Day I Delete You

Read me a bedtime story

I know you do it well

It’s called practice.

Tell me I’m your baby

I’ll suck my thumb

I’ll call you daddy.

Take me

Take me

Take me over your lap

Use your hand.

I want you to fuck me.

I want to hear you tell your wife about me.

Where did you learn to be so sure?

You could sell salt back to the sea and it’d be happy.

Shh, don’t.

Don’t tell me again

You’re away home

Door open

Kisses on three foreheads

While I betray my best friend’s trust

and stray.

Dear heart, you are cold now.

Alone on the stairs and smoking

I think about your room and I picture your house

And I place my objects among your walls

And I tell you about my granny;

She’d be turning.

Your name rattles round my head on the regular

No-ah

No.

Ah.

I mouth the syllables in slow motion

And I pout my lips

And imagine them around your cock

And I see those soon-to-be-threaded eyebrows bobbing above my cunt in a house that’s not mine

And I worry.

A victory dance above the slow fade out,

My blue valentine.

Douse yourself in aftershave,

Mask the sex we just had

And then tell me about your wife again.

Tell me about feeling wanted

Not wanted

Tell me about how much you want me

Don’t want me, please.

I batten down the hatches

On my ruby red heart

As I wipe your come off my stomach

Watching it glisten and trickle

As I ache

As I tell myself to switch it off

As I tell myself to forget it all.

Return to the bedtime story baby

But skip to the bitter end.

Every day I delete you.