I wait patiently for the future, but the future never quite gets here. When I think the future is close, its suddenly further away than ever. I see it in my head, but I can’t get my fingers into my brain to drag it out.
My skin wrinkles whilst I wait for the future to come. I wait on a bench, I put cookies and milk out for it. I scream for it. I make blood rituals for it. Sometimes Gods and drunks approach me, but never the future.
Maybe I should just give up on the future, you can only wait so long.
I lost my self. I’m not sure where it went, but I lost it. It happened around Christmas, one night when I was staring at the fairy lights stuck around the bedroom window. They dazzled me, despite how cheap they were. They brought a warm glow to the room, and the next day, my self had gone out with the lights. Continue reading
I didn’t break into Oswaldtwistle Mills one night to lick the ‘World’s Largest Pear Drop’ due to a love of sweets, I was more a savoury kind of guy. No, I licked the pear drop for the worst reason in the book; for a girl.
Chloe was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to me, and not a lot of good stuff did happen to me. She was dazzling, funny, and shared a love for cheese toasties, making her pretty much the one for me, that one in a million. But she also had a wild side which I did not, for sometimes she liked to push the boundaries of society by smashing some plates, or something equally wild. I felt I couldn’t keep up with this side of her, and ultimately she’d grow bored with our relationship, and run off with a kleptomaniac or an arsonist. This sort of thing happens more than you’d think. Continue reading
Through crowded streets and empty fields.
Whilst waiting for news, be it good or bad.
Dancing at gigs, waltzing at weddings.
In the city, in the town.
In the home, at the hospital.
They’ve been far.
These battered, broken sandals.