The Still Point


Closing my eyes, I smell the beach and the scent of doughnuts and cotton candy and salted chips which seagulls do their best to lift from the piggy fingers of piggy children who only know what fruit looks like cause they saw it once on TV. Tilting my head to the sky feeling the warmth of a lukewarm sun on my skin, I taste each and every grain of sand from each and every beach. They remind me of your belly, of your thighs. They remind me of childhood bus journeys on summer days where fields of corn stretched for miles and there was no such thing as tomorrow. The ground beneath my feet melts like butter. The air in my nostrils, it stings and pinches me like I would sometimes pinch together your labia before falling asleep with my head between your legs. Whenever I did, my ears heard all of your secrets. They told me how you felt inside, and what lied beyond the boundaries of the observable universe. Following the cracks in the paving slabs, I walk a tightrope with my arms outstretched either side of me. There are days when the tide reaches my feet, and there are days when I’m untouched by everything. A lone statue on the outskirts of town no one knows is there. A statue birds shit on from great heights and stray dogs cock their legs against before hurrying off on some adventure I will never be privy to. There’s a photo in my back pocket, and when I feel down and on the brink of giving up, I go someplace quiet and look at the face it captures. That smile. Those eyes. Those eyes that grow like the raging night in the back of my mind. Sitting down on a bench far removed from the hustle and bustle of the street, I hold the photo in my hand and gaze so longingly at you. You used to be my girl. A simple girl for a simple world. Now though, now you’re a myth and a muse and the epicentre of my obsessions and madness. A reason to go on and a reason to collapse. The still point of my turning world, baby. The still point of my turning world. Returning the photo to my pocket, the ocean calls to me and I respond. In no time at all, the sky hits the ground and I’m bouncing around somewhere in the middle like a rubber ball. An eternity from safety, and even further from your arms.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on

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