A spade in my hand
a wrench in my knees
driving down into the duvet
a cavern, so noone chomps the bit,
and tries to mouth to me.
Knocks on the door
patterns of dot to dot,
each one isolating me from the rest of the tedium.
No longer caring for repetitive blanks,
even you are nestled in my shoulders,
but I forget where I leave you.
A ghost in the photographs,
a black and white canvas, with the bright lights of
all the coloured alcopops,
blurring my visions,
but they blurred out the bullshit I'm sick of hearing.
Just let me crawl back,
let me swim in pavements and wrestle the clover,
I'd rather drown in concrete,
than dance with you,
and I'm dancing in the road,
as if somone could see me,
but I'm glad you can't.
A map on the office chair,
with its ribbed spine bending backwards,
I walk all over it.
The cardboard box soaks up the thoughts,
and I tape it up and send my loneliness,
over Magdalen Bridge,
where it can break its legs ,
for all I care about them.
Author notes
bleugh just some word vomit for you all. its about not wanting to spend time wit people coz everyone in the entire world sucks 
and an office chair.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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for some reason, this made me think of hunter s. thompson. you write about different things [well, he has talked about the shittiness of people but it's different] and the writing styles are different but there's this havoc to it, something I've seen in his work. all the imagery was trippy and the placement made it seem so random but when you get to the bones of it everything makes sense in a way. I dig it :]]]]]
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haha that is basically true. people are shit...
i like this anyway esp 'No longer caring for repetitive blanks,
even you are nestled in my shoulders,
but I forget where I leave you.'
xx
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