In town, outside the hotel, I drink my coffee. The cigarette that goes with it is bliss. Makes the cruel kiss of winter seem almost worth it. The buildings that watch over my temporal form are nondescript, yet in their way, they tell my story better than I do. They’re silent witnesses of my most Read more

Downward mouth. King cigarette. Night as black as sin, and as holy as crushed mascara beneath searching thumbs caked in grease. Under a blanket of neon darkness, I think about the fading outlines of past lovers while attempting entry into a building that may or may not be real. I mean, yeah, it’s real, but Read more

While I sleep, the lazy sperms in me shoot out the window and become stars. They twinkle and shine, dead yet alive. In my skull, somewhere between memory and make-believe, a seedy cinema shows artsy films about the permanence of yesterday while my younger self goofs around with a girl who should know better. The Read more

As I butter my slice of toast, the layers of time smother me. With one, quick bite, I taste heaven. When I swallow, the knot in my stomach untangles and everything makes sense. But it never lasts. The only thing that persists is the strangeness. The strangeness of drinking coffee in a café where I Read more

In the dying embers of the evening when the flicker of the tv shines as bright as daylight, the explosions in my head speak about love, and they speak about death. They’re both opaque as coal. On the pavement outside, deserted and reeking of regret, droplets of rain fall like bombs. In a town I Read more

Monday morning. The pitter-patter of birdsong. The echo of a hangover on my shoulder that resembles a Siamese cat. Walking around, the river that cuts through town returns to the source, and without realising, I’m back where I started. The shadow of the old Blockbuster store looms somewhere over the heads of those who surround Read more

On a lazy Sunday evening, I bow down to an absence of time and worship the persistence of memories. They persist like an itch. The wine I’m drinking magnifies everything. It’s quite the dance. I’m mostly lost, but it’s okay, because the pages of the books I read tickle my skin like butterfly wings. They Read more

My childhood flutters like a moth. In the flapping of its invisible wings, I recall a cardboard cutout of Sonic the Hedgehog. My nan disliked him, but to me, his spiky, blue nature ruled my eight-year-old brain. The cutout resided in town, in a store that stood derelict for many years after. In those years, Read more