Beer cans as gods. Empty beer cans as dead gods. Beer shits as the gift that just keeps on giving. In the throes of fucking you resemble the violent birth of the universe, and then when your belly’s full of seed, you resemble its slow and inevitable death. You just fade away into outer… Read more

Send nudes. Send honey. Write me your dirtiest poetry and post it in an envelope sealed with your wettest kisses. Send lockets of your hair that I may sniff and chew before falling asleep listening to the rain blowing against the window. Send me an ounce or two of your soul in an old Sainsbury’s… Read more

  The skin around my fingers is bleeding. Cuticles. That’s the right word, yeah? So yeah, my cuticles are bleeding so I suck and lick them like sweets. Like shiny red lollipops. Or your nipples. Yeah, your nipples. I know, I know, such perversity within the first few sentences, but it can’t be helped. I’m… Read more

  Drinking songs and ladybirds and the way you eye yourself up in the mirror not knowing whether you’ve still got it. And this it, is it wanting to know if guys still wanna fuck you, or is it about needing to be the source of their obsessions as well? What eats away even more… Read more

  In fresh snow, you plant your can of beer while I light a smoke talking about my favourite serial killers. It’s far too late, and we should be in bed, but not together, unfortunately, even though my eye for detail concerning the crimes of Jeffrey Dahmer impresses you for sure. The acid in my belly… Read more

  Back to the beginning. To those olden days. To those cosmic rays and the shine of your strange teeth as you drunkenly walk unfamiliar streets trying to remember your way home. Such streets recall a younger version of yourself even if that version no longer exists, yet somehow it still does, somewhere, out there,… Read more

  There’s an image of me from a day now almost lost. A few years ago, it was. I’m about to leave the house and head down to the shops at the bottom of the road. I can feel myself on the verge of a panic attack but try and block it out. Try and… Read more

There’s music that drifts to us from the radio, but it’s as dead as the cunts that make it. The only music we need is that of the sounds emanating from our bombed-out hearts. Imagine all the streets on fire as we chew a piece of gum and swap it between our foaming mouths. Imagine passing… Read more

  There’s blood on the sidewalk and flashes of your smile in the windows of all the stores that flow up and down the strip. In my pocket, there’s a lock of your hair, and when I take it out and breathe you in, the ground shakes and the buildings roll like marbles or those boulders… Read more

  There’s a headache that lasts all day. Tried taking painkillers to ease the discomfort, but they didn’t work, so instead, I opened some wine. Didn’t taste great, but wine is wine, and although the headache refused to shift, in my alcoholic daze everything else felt just right. Watched The Thing. Have seen it before. The… Read more