Scrub-land

Upon first glance, I am separate

Quite banished

and free to swing wildly

from Heaven to Hell

All in between is a blur…

In rapid insignificance

on the same futile plane

A map is marked with crosses

A million crucifixes

Scattered ridiculously

Around coffin-shaped benches

No one in particular rests here (with absent breath)

Vital organs fall at invisible feet

And are picked up as carrion

By the ghosts of wings that are long since dead

Battered and more than a little broken

In unrestrained violence

It still echoes here

In screaming silence

Accompanied only by the muffled beating

Of a corrupted drum

If I should jump from this joyful motion

I fear the plummet into the landfill below

Would leave me aptly vacant

And … somewhat amenable (malleable?)

Friendly (at least) and gratefully free

To clear and swill the last heart beats

From scrub-land, once perfused with ambition

And I am blamed, unjustly, for my gentle touch

Naivety dusts the forms of desiccated ventricles

Littered in sweated rivulets upon arid ground

I see all I am responsible for

My sins tread a lonely path

Counted… slowly

From righteous lips

As my heart is the only one left to bleed

19-08-2012

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