I Found A Note In My Porridge

I found a note in my porridge.

Most (every) morning I start the day with a bowl of Quaker’s Oats porridge. I use one sachet to ensure I’m not being overindulgent, and it keeps me going till lunch.

A note fell out of the last sachet I tore open, like those toys used to do in cereal boxes. I felt it was merely excessive packaging, a manufacturing fault. But then I turned it over.

”Does this make you happy?”
Continue reading

Advertisements

Filling Time

Filling time with words
Filling time with sweat
Filling time with plans
Filling time with numbers
Filling time with people
Filling time with music
Filling time with boredom
Filling time with slumber
Filling time with lies
Filling time with meat
Filling time with masturbation
Filling time with boredom
Filling time with things
Filling time with building
Filling time with breaking
Filling time with pills
Filling time with breathing
Filling time with feeling
Filling time with laughter
Filling time with pasta
Filling time with Pete
Filling time with crime
Filling time with standing
Filling time with dying
Filling time with garbage

And time, it always leaks

So keep on filling

And you’ll just have to see

After

After digging through his brain to find the right things to say.

He didn’t realise how hard it would be to piece it all back together.

The fragments of his brain in his hands held no answers.

And so, he had nothing to say anyway.

 

 

Sci-Fi Synth Blues

No matter how much time you spend

Listening to instrumental synths,

Italians Do It Better, Disasterpiece, M83,

Painting the walls in neon,

Green, red, thick coats of moody blue,

Watching the rain from windows,

puddles forming through the night,

Cars won’t fly, robots won’t cry, holograms won’t pry

For the dystopia you crave is already here, romance free.

And those synths won’t set you free.

I know, take it from me and my Deckard coat, hanging from the door which never closes.