Magpie

The shopping cart is empty and overflowing; rotting before we get it through the checkout. I think we should just buy vitamin pills and milky drinks and tell the kids that they’ll survive ok.

I’m chewing gum towards the exit, ignoring the cravings, staring ahead and I’m thinking about how much I want to fuck Duchovny these days, but it’s cool – we can deal with fiction.

We don’t need half-price anything, we’re done. We’re ready to sleep and lie down behind a slammed door again because it’s raining, finally.

The bags show more signs of decay before we can put them away. It’s already infiltrated with hormones and the Acute Mono-blastic crap that hurls itself from the pylons: The pylons that hum and vibrate dangerously in the rain. It keeps it all fat – and alive.

We eat the things that will last forever immediately – dried cherries and oatcakes. They’ll outlive us in our stomachs and stand up to the most rigorous pathological testing. I swallow lies while the truth deteriorates quickly in cold storage.

I don’t sleep. It’s a sin and a shame. I hear demonic voices and I can see the insides of my eyelids like the fires of Hell itself. This is an ancient map and we’ve been following it since dawn.

I refuse to recite a protection prayer that I don’t believe in. Flame - sparks - vomit and a projection of greed within an unholy sense of wanting. None of you could ever imagine, but I like to, over and over again. 

A magpie mind sees only winter rubies sparkling in the moonlight – flawless and softened.

I fail often, I am not clean.

White-out

Dark corners

Painted windows

Nothing

We need nothing

And want everything.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2011

emotional pain is my biggest fear

I am eternally damned creative

and bored of being head fucked

I dont want a pink cat

and oreo cake is too kitsch for my tastes

go retro amongst the fairy lights

and shut them all out

quote after quote jabs at the logic in my mind

but it’s all theory and no fucking practise

preaching, no better than a fervent sermon

spewed in bullshit on sunday mornings

and saturdays, after tea (always after tea)

I’ll go - but only after I’ve wrapped my head in red organza

and found my 6 inch heels

I put them here somewhere - a few years ago

Has anybody seen them?

You’re all full of shit

It’s boring to be fucked up

and it’s bland to be happy

and we don’t do middle lines here

we can’t understand them

so we argue in extremes always

and now I’m going to run

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2011

I need to say that I don't love you
I haven't for years
Emotionally, I left all that time ago
You knew of course, busy with manipulation as always
and it seems like a conspiracy right now
Heart strings
Suffer for your children
Their tears
because daddy isn't home
but all they saw when he was home
was daddy's tears
because he couldn't cope with tying his own fucking shoe laces
I feel shit
I feel guilty
I should have stayed - chained and gagged
played like a puppet
hating you more with every breath
regretting the ties we have
resenting your stupid, pathetic face
everytime it appeared at my door
Happy?
You've all made your fucking point today
now fuck off

“Why are you leaving me?

He wrote, I do not know how to live.

I do not know either but I am trying.

I do not know how to try.

There were some things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. 

So I buried them and let them hurt me”

— Jonathan Safran Foer

Still

It’s a tall order; A to B; it’s a lark, a game 
Do you suppose it’s completely god-less? 
Of course it is - I think 
It seems so; endurance in enemies retreats 
and long, white lines of enlightenment 
You warned me they would be “missed” 
Another prophecy, told long after its truth 
Wayward and blowing across toilet seats 
in old and barren nightclubs 
It’s contrived 

Choose what to lose; before it’s gone 
Don’t break it down into smaller thinking pieces 
It needs to escalate; provoking wanted insanity 
amongst wandering tree-less happy homes 
Choose when to go; before you leave 
Don’t linger in unstable spaces too long 
Nothing is here; it’s all there 
inside real life, dying astral epics *laugh 

Seek out the trip; the one you want 
there is no stage - just a hidden quiet 
a silence - the moment before rapturous applause 
Take a bow; show your achievement 
it’s the same as yesterday - throw a six everytime 
you’re still on A; the largest square; the biggest whore 

A bargain, a short journey, a narrow slide 
backwards - returning to a womb that no longer feeds you 
[nor tolerates your crap - do you care?] 
Throw another, fill your mind; toxic escape routes inside 
and blissful dreams of sinking; lose it; you chose it well 
Tilt your head for a stranger perspective 
Throw it back for the want of your souls cry 
all within a room 
That looks just like so many others 


Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2010

Tears

"Why do you cry?" they asked

I cry because you asked me that question. I cry because your manipulation and ignorance knows no bounds. I cry because you ARE, in essence, the very thing that you despise and fight against. I cry because you project your self-hatred upon me. I cry because I am here, uninvited yet unable to leave, and you so callously sweep aside my presence amongst strangers. I cry because you hide the truth from me. I cry because the lies are insulting. I cry because I see the dark and no matter how hard I try I can no longer see the light. I cry because I am killing my emotions, hour by hour, day by day. I cry because the murder of my soul is because of you. I cry with clean hands as I look at your blood soaked elbows, emerging from the hole in my chest that makes me cry.

The definition of my tears is disillusionment. It is hatred borne of love, care and respect. Where warmth once lived, there is now only despair and a locked door.

I cry because the thought of ever feeling again makes me vomit.
I write it down because I am terrified of that being the truth.
At least I can still cry.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2011