Leeds

A drunken DJ

A girl shares her boot fetish

A man says, ‘dance more’.

Too Many Hits

The band looked drained, but still they played.

Too many hits.

That’s what they said. That’s what they sang.

The lead singer cried.

Number one before they even reached the chorus.

Nobel Rock

I became a rock star not because I thought it was a fun thing to do, and not because I wanted to make it big. I became a rock star out of necessity, it just had to be done. An angel came into my dreams one night and told me that if I didn’t became a rock star, terrible things would happen. The country would grow poor, people would grow sick, and my music was needed to bring about huge sales and fans who would only survive because they happened to be listening to my music at the time, or visiting one of my live shows. To not be in that moment with my music, terrible things would surely happen, and my music, no matter what it sounded like, though I as suggested to go for a pop punk sound as it was likely to be on the comeback, it would change lives. For that’s what music does, it changes lives. I remember sitting on a bus dying of solitude. The Knife played in my MP3 player and provided an atmosphere, a level of sense and comfort to it all. I was different, but so was The Knife. So my music had to do something to help someone.

So of course I became a rock star out of necessity.

One More Time

One more time,

Only this time it came with a black eye

They apologised all night

One more time

I said fine.

False Goods

She led in bed crying, I sat on the chair trying.

‘I never thought my relationship with someone would end up this way?

‘What do you mean?’ I whimpered pathetically.

‘The anti-depressants, the depression, the meltdowns, the arguments. I feel like I’ve been sold false goods.’

I sat there in pieces, like the false goods I were. I knew I was no longer a child, I knew I was responsible for someone else’s despair.

A bad joke. Faulty goods, fake goods… whatever, I was not fit for normality, that was what she was trying to tell me all night.

Poor selfish me.

Sent me back the next day.

12.30am

12.30am

12.30am

Sharing a bed, slightly uncomfortable with a loud snorer by my side.

1.30am

I can’t bear the snoring. I have no ear plugs, no sleeping pills.

2.30am

One Boards of Canada album later, maybe I slept a few winks.

3.30am

I’d kill him if I could. He growls, and grumbles. He explodes in volume.

4.30am

Two Boards of Canada albums later. Maybe I dreamt a little.

5.30am

I can see the light from the window, my eyes are red, my feet are sore. Everything wrong, no matter how minor, comes into play.

6.30am

He wakes. He goes to work. I lie in bed wide awake.

Can’t

But there is no can’t

That’s what someone said to me

Passing the jam jar

More Weight

More weight?

What was it this time?

The Oreo ice cream sandwiches?

The extra large Cabury Buttons sharebags?

The Mcdonalds triple cheeseburger deal?

Nope, this time it was just life.

It broke my scales.

What’s The Worst That Can Happen?

What’s the worst that can happen?

I guess lying in my own pool of dropped Oreos is a pretty horrible worst case scenario that could happen.

And will

And did.

Pigeons pecked around my feet for days.

Best Day

I land a job

it’s a pleasant job

I move out

it does the job

My girlfriend no longer shouts

she whistles instead

I have lost all the weight I need

Better life, oh boy

I find my creative vibe

this is how you do part time

And each day is generally as far removed from today.

Fiction, that’s what I love to write.