The Skin of a Chicken

Closing my eyes even though the day has only just begun, I drift between this world and the next. I need a piss. The need penetrates my subconscious and so follows dreams of endless childhood days spent swimming. Sometimes in the sea. Mostly indoors, bathed in artificial sunshine. Oh, the cheeky memories of taking a sneaky leak in the shallow end of the local swimming pool and the tingle in my belly it would bring—a tingle that was a prelude to the dark joys of the not-so-distant orgasm. The innocence of moments like these reminds me of other joys, like the SNES games I’d rent and play from Blockbusters on a Friday night after school. I can still see the store on the high street and its aisles of magic that welcomed me with open arms with its well-worn zig-zag blue carpet and excessive displays of overpriced candy. How I wish to taste those days again. No booze. No cigarettes. No death, bills, or jobs, just me, my dog, and a game to take me to another world as the hours ticked away regardless. Fully submerged in the visions rippling behind my eyes, the water in the pool turns my skin wrinkly. I’m a prune. I’m the skin of a chicken or that of a shaved cat. Blinking a gummy smile, the water is my home, the same as the bed and her sleeping arms. Her hair tickles my nostrils. Lifting it away, I exist in two worlds at the same time, never really here, never really there, scared that the love I seek won’t ever be enough to quell these inner blues.

X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon UK

X and I: A Novel and A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon US

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