I don't write. I create.
Maybe you eat the chicken raw if the chicken is what you like.
Maybe I cut the phone because I hate social connections.
Maybe you drink out of a larger cup because you’re greedy and don’t give a fuck that there’s nothing left for the rest of us.
Maybe I raise my eyebrows at you, for hoarding your shit. I hate it. All of it.
Maybe you apologise for being a dick and then wank yourself with an old sock.
Maybe, I’m just overthinking the possibilities? I mean, didn’t you say you were vegan?
Our love began back when the days were long, and hate was short-lived.
My kisses gave you life.
You were dying from being broken down, by a dazzling fraudster. Bitch bred and fled with many bricks.
My kisses opened your mind to my amazing inoculations.
You suck on my lips like you know where to find my sweet elixir. I giggle, I’m ticklish.
I’m cheesy as fuck, but I’m everything.
I’m our sky.
I’m our clouds.
I’m our rain.
I am an abundant quantity of oxygen.
You inhale my presence deeply.
I’m toxic.
I’m ugly.
I’m detrimental.
I’m viral.
I hold a plethora of bad omens.
You exhale love, each special moment.
At the 96th hour, I let go.
You cry as warmth increases to a high wave of heat.
Sorry, not sorry.
I have no time for your ignorance.
I have no patience for your questions.
Babe, you’re a damn good kisser.
But I can’t muster the energy to understand your deceit.
Talkin’ bout, you want more and more from my half of this partnership. But you gave me unread messages, ignored phone calls and divided time, love and appreciation.
Your heart is beating faster and faster, beating your insides and showing your nonsense out.
Pause.
I can hear the angels calling you.
Only, the deal I made with Lucifer, meant that as your heart pounds you to death, your soul will be absorbed by nothing and no one.
It’ll flow around our world aimlessly and unseen.
I have no sympathy for you personally.
I am everything and everything is Unique.
Skim a bit of skin off her back.
That bitch has got an attitude problem.
I’m currently in bed.
Body covered in coconut oil, toes dipped in avocado oil.
2021 has delivered so much already!
I’m forever thankful.
I feel my beautiful mind expanding.
I’m walking through my destiny.
The next stage is a tough one.
I’ll embrace it. I love my creative nature.
Guess what?
I’m currently in bed.
On my?
With my?
On time!
On time!
Ooo, meet me at the beach!
Read more of this content when you subscribe today.
To read a book around 1000 this morning and by 1023 I had nodded off to sleep.
Such a boring read!
I’ve now woken up ravenous.
Time for lunch!
Once my hair fell way past my shoulders.
I never used to think much of it.
One night I stayed over at my aunt’s house.
One night she cut my hair down to 2 inches.
The next morning, she braided it in brown hair extensions and said nothing.
A few weeks later I discovered my hair had been cut.
In my thoughts, I skin her scalp back.
I cut off her forefinger and middle finger.
I clip the corners of her eyes, with a pair of toe scissors.
I sew brown extensions into her scalp and saturate it with oils.
One afternoon I saw her.
One afternoon I heard her horrible voice.
One afternoon I played the fiddle and watched her fall hard.
Her husband had cheated on her and took her money.
Her husband came back to her house.
Today my hair falls past my shoulders.
Today I type and I write my truth.
Today her sins caught up with her and she swirls around endlessly in a deep pool of salt.
Her eyes are burning, and her tongue has fizzled away.
My word, she’s a waste of life.
Once upon a time, a scruffy dog used to bark and bark and bark, all day long.
One night after tossing and turning in bed, the neighbour next door – the one that smiles at the dogs’ owners every day and has never expressed his annoyance about their cute little dog. Took some slices of ham out of his fridge and went quietly into his back garden.
The dog saw him and through the joy of familiarity, wagged his tail excitedly and watched carefully as this friendly man hopped over the fence with some slices of succulent, honey-glazed ham.
The neighbour tossed a slice and the little dog jumped up and caught it.
The neighbour tossed a second slice. Only this slice landed right by the neighbours left foot.
The cheerful (now quiet) but excited dog. Trotted over to the neighbour, and bent down to eat another tasty treat.
The neighbour knelt and looped a cable tie around the dog’s neck. At first, the dog yelped in horror, but seconds later the little squeals came to an untimely end. The neighbour cut the cable tie, picked up the limp dog and placed him gently into his kennel.
The neighbour hopped back over the fence. Back into his house, into the bathroom to wash his hands and then with a delightful smile across his face, he drifted off into a deep sleep.
Read more of this content when you subscribe today.
Reception – 06.02.2021
The reception was about as weak as waiting in the rain at London Victoria coach station.
I thought receptions were about a celebration of some kind, whether that be life, death or like earlier, love? Maybe, I’m not smart enough to comprehend the meaning behind them.
On the menu was a traditional Sunday roast: Chicken, potatoes, carrots and gravy. Only, what we were served was dried out chicken breasts, rock hard potatoes, cold carrots and watered down gravy.
My cold plate was washed out with cold hard objects, they labelled fine dining.
I was seated at a table with a pursed lipped smoker and her ashy fingers. Fingers that kept accidentally brushing my exposed skin and a wrinkled mouth that said, ‘forgive me, love. Your skin is so soft, I use the finest lotions on my own skin, see!’ then reaching out and grasping my hand. I lose count at the third attempt.
Now, I love apple crumble and custard but the crumble was more like a chunky apple sauce, with a crumble dusting. Topped off with cheap, lumpy, piping hot, sugary custard. My stomach was growling and the drinks were tasteless.
The reception was a damp attempt to please the masses.
Interesting addition to the clothes I wear.
I add many things to this small, zipped, denim location.
Tissue, paracetamol, lip-balm, eye-drops, hand cream, lemon sherbet drops and a three page letter.
I wrote about 2020.
I transferred pain from my heart, to these pages, to my pocket.
I released everything. Yet, I keep memories folded and close by.
Maybe, they’ll wash away the deeper I stride into this scenic lake.
I’m blessed.
The only thing that matters is my birth.
With my breasts if you think they’ll help you become a better man.
With my body if you find peace at home.
With my mind if you need hope.
But never play with my heart.
At all the rats in the sewers, if it helps you to reflect on how much of a dick you are.
She forced him to sell his cock, to people who were willing to pay for 2 inches.
