Love Lies Bleeding



Getting drunk and listening to Elton John’s ‘Yellow Brick Road ignoring the stomach pains that disco dance within my belly, it’s a Saturday night shit-fest as the town eats itself alive as riots on the streets of London tickle my fancy like the image of a brunette in suspenders seductively eating a choc-ice. Should be writing, but drinking is far easier, and anyway, I’ve nothing to say. Haven’t said a word in years. Don’t know how to, not anymore. There’s a cat in the garden that keeps meowing as I’m looking at photos of an ex on facebook. The guys she’s with has nothing on me- complete bonehead. I mean, just fucking look at him, and yet he lives day to day, whereas I’m currently lost somewhere last month- in between the days and down the back of the sofa like a johnny purchased from the toilets of a local supermarket ten minutes before closing time so as not to be witnessed by another living soul. I’m fluttering down an alley like a piece of string caught on the thorns of a weed. And all those alleyways- how they’ve witnessed my meandering steps without so much as an inkling of change. How they’ve let me go by without so much as a simple hello. The guy who wanders, who claims to be a writer but doesn’t like writing; who claimed to be a painter once as well, but gave it up for no reason in particular. I’m not bothered much about anything, and this is why I can’t even remember the year I’m talking about. It’s almost certainly before I met Brittany, though. Those were the days back when she was working in the off-licence a five-minute walk from mine. I remember when I first saw her. It was a Saturday. The time was around six, the weather fine if a little windy. It was busy, and she served me without paying much attention, but I remember looking into those deep brown eyes of hers and knowing I wanted her. She reminded me of that English girl who was murdered in Japan and discovered in a bath of sand- not the reason I found her attractive; I wish to add. I’m not weird or anything. So yeah, there she was, and a few months later we drunkenly kissed on the dancefloor in some pub on the high street. Floating through the town in the early hours of the morning, we moved in circles until she came back to mine. We begun dating soon after. My favourite memory of the two of us is when we were lying on a rug in her parents garden the following summer watching a meteor shower. As we gazed into the night sky with her family dog chasing spiders in the moist grass around us, there was nowhere else I wanted to be, and as the trail of some long-gone comet twinkled before our eyes, there was no one else I wanted to love. 

19 replies »

  1. I knew something was missing, and that thing was that your postings weren’t showing up in my reader, and I love your writing and that’s the thing that was missing. It feels good to reconnect with your strong and powerful voice. Peace, Harlon

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