She drinks a bottle of milk to ease her stomach pains while getting through a packet of Reds. Y’know, the one’s Jack Torrence smoked in The Shining? It’s a dirty habit as are my frequent trips to the bathroom where I abuse myself under the pretence of suffering from a severe bout of diarrhoea.… Read more

  Dressing gowns soaked with rain. Cigarettes that slip and twist and fall from skinny fingers that should know better. The smell of what it is to be human- it makes me horny and it makes me sad. On the kerb, there’s a vehicle with its engine running that’s been parked there for the best… Read more

  Supermarkets. Cafes. Camden. London Zoo. The hum of her uterus and the undeniable song it sings to me when I’m sleeping. Warehouses. Garden centres. Corner shops opposite the petrol station that sells those energy drinks that taste like the breastmilk of a Greek goddess. There’s a telephone booth I stand within to light my… Read more

  When I come crawling back with blood on my fingers, will you still want to see me? When you read the words that flow from my mind at 2 am when everyone else is gone, will you still want to take me in your arms? We could be together, but these feelings just won’t… Read more

  Colt 45. Blonde Mona Lisa. A bottle of Australian white to help ease the passage from one state to the next. From painter to lover, lover to writer. Girl. Lizard. Secreter. You roll a smoke and say you’re fine but how can you be fine when your man gets bored of what you’ve got to… Read more

  She’s a great kisser, but these blisters on my feet won’t pop themselves. She thinks it’s disgusting, but as I take the needle in hand and pass it back and forth through the flame of my lighter, the relief that washes over me as they burst is almost immeasurable. The way the juice flows… Read more

  The grey days and missing days where dead relatives and unchained lovers drift away without you even realising. The dirty crowd and how it thinks of itself as a collective shining light, and not the mass of crap and regurgitated dreams it really is. No beauty, and no success, just this lump of gristle that… Read more

They keep tip-toeing in slow motion and even though it’s day there’s no sun only the moon and even though they move so quietly I can hear their feet crashing down like thunder. Red lips. Red gums. And how I’ve hushed those gums and how I’ve skirted the edge and peered at their naked bodies… Read more

  Ten thousand tonnes of clouds and the image of a virgin fiddling with razor blades while soaking in a hot bath. Her body is unknown, untouched. Those breasts of hers, those ridges of flesh where the fingers of no man have ever teased. They speak to me of many great things, but words only… Read more

  They write poetry you wouldn’t even wipe your arse with. They spew out these passages on love and identity as if they actually meant something, but their problem is they don’t know shit because they’re not alive. They exist, but that’s about it. They’re so comfortable within their skin and the world around them.… Read more