Pick up the phone. Put it down again. Sat perched on the edge of the bed; the heavens fall with you. Grass stains on your knees, the way it used to be when to be a kid was all there ever was. Before the great fall, there was a place we called our own. Read more

  Dancing around the rim of chalk, on either side the forest grows ever on. Further ahead along the path you walk, her scent is spreading rapidly. Visions of her sex never ending. Passing always, the flowers sigh as you move by. The trees speak of love, and they sing a song just like the Read more

The slightest of movements. The flickering of a light as you wake with shortened breath. It’s raining. Early hours. The only soul left in the universe. Silence is all there is, and as you struggle to comprehend your own mortality, you sit drenched in sweat on the edge of the bed. Time slips through your Read more

  Drinking wine, blood trickles from my busted knuckle. The red mist took hold, just for a second, but I lost it nonetheless. A phantom in the throes of fantasy, I was snapped out of my little taste of bliss. Somewhere nearby, I hear the keys of a piano being played so sullenly it eases Read more

Listening for sounds of footsteps while nursing a hangover. Crawling to the toilet, and puking not only last night’s alcohol, but stomach bile so shiny and yellow it blinds my tired eyes. Insides obliterated, and head on the verge of coming apart. Existence too much, I sit in the garden and look at the weeds. Read more

  I’m sat in a cafe where creation and banality are born in equal measure. The streets are busy, and all the pale sex machines walk by without even looking. Push up bras and black stockings. Empty heads and muscle machines. Suits and designer stubble, all of them swirling arm in arm like turds down Read more

Aching limbs galore. Mind and body half asleep. Unwashed and unshaven, a month old beard hanging from a face that doesn’t care. When the sun comes out, I sit in the garden. When it rains, I go indoors and make myself a cup of tea before falling asleep. Several hours later, and the words come Read more

Concrete England. Countrysides and inner turmoil while fading in comparison to the Americans. Our killers pale; our sex so timid and sickly like sour milk. Short skirts and lipstick; kids in prams and needles flushed down toilets. The darkness within compared to smiles of sunshine and orange juice. Biscuit tins containing old bank notes mixed Read more