Voice Box

Rip it out with sickness

Let that sucker keep on croaking

‘How’s the weather?’

‘Croak, croak, croak’

‘How’s your life?’

‘Croak, croak, croak’

‘Well, that’s good’

And without a voice box it’s easy to see

That you never had anything much to say anyway.

And you will also say ‘Fine, I didn’t care much for it’

In your head. Of course. Of course.

Croak Croak Croak



The scary thing about

when feet feel

when knees knock

when hands hold

when lips lock

is the fact that it happens all the time

it happens more than you think

it happens with more than just you

To think it means much

Just think how much

And then realisation will take hold

of your feet

of your knees

of your hands

and your lips



Bloody Thumbs

Thumbs bleeding and scarred

Feel those bumps

Wipe away that gunk

Then watch them bleed some more

For those coffee shop girls

For the ex who might as well be sitting over there

For a chance to eat bass and say it’s alright

So keep using those thumbs

Swipe left

Swipe right

And with those beaten thumbs just think

Of the stories you’ll tell your kids

Of those short-lived moments that are just that

Swipe left

Swipe right

Let your thumbs work raw

For do plasters have touch recognition?


I needed to sound impressive
So I made a lie.
I threw up on the street as it crawled out my mouth.
This version of me was really impressive,

I needed to show I was interested
So I made a lie
I sneezed and watched it sprawl out, wiggle, and twitch to its feet
Dripping but free, it was so completely interested, believe me

I needed to cover these stories
So I made lies to cover those other lies
I picked wax from my ears and so they were born
The two from each ear covered holes with their feet Continue reading


Mmm, I love those vibrations.

Oh yes, I let them run all over my body.

It’s such a buzz to feel it on my throat.

I get high from down below.

You can even add a sound, it creates double the fun they say.

These good vibrations come from different places, different times, and different faces.

It’s not the content, but the sensation.

It’s not the context, but the gratification.

And when I see her there, those vibrations aren’t there.

So I just want to go home, to look forward to feeling more.

But they are no longer there.






I miss tripping over all those clothes piles

I miss untangled that mess of wires

I miss moving the plastic container boxes to get to my books

I miss holding my body against the door to keep it open

I miss climbing over a body to get to the shower

All that clutter, I miss it so.