It’s a kiss and it’s a week in bed unable to move. It’s a tree blowing in the wind and a plastic bag in a puddle. It’s the memory of the one you love and it’s the sight of a cat scurrying around in the rain looking for shelter. It’s years worth of writing and then a blank page that just won’t go away. It’s a wish for tenderness and then those hours that pass when you feel nothing at all. It’s the elation of emotion and then an empty chair that remains empty no matter how hard you try imagining something in its place. A shower to cleanse sin. A cigarette and cup of tea while watching daytime TV. There’s food but it leaves no impression. There’s a whole world out there but it’s all just so samey and blue. There’s pornography and alcohol and cheap kicks that are never far from itchy fingers, but what are cheap kicks when compared to that one true kiss? In the garden, there’s a dead bird next to a worm. There’s a taste in your mouth no amount of brushing will ever shift. The flavour of defeat. It clings like these clouds that won’t ever lift. And that bird. It flew so high, and now it just lies there. It once spread its wings and danced to the music of life, and now its feathers are soaked and its eyes as sunken as the dreams of those kids you used to go to school with. There was a time when they soared through the sky like Peter Pan, and then they became adults. They became worms. We all became worms if we’re not careful.