Sometimes when the light seeps in and overlap the shadows in every nook and cranny, forming amethyst cascades shooting sprouts up the walls, I close my eyes and let life wind in fast forward. Vibrant purple spots leaks from under my eyelids and embroids faces, so real, but not from any memory. I know I will distinguish them in a vast crowd someday but it does not matter now. Everything is in its right place and I feel the time is square; I am hurled between the corners and sometimes I return far too soon.
a tour of familiar places where I’m lost in a hugging crowd. detached and useless and pitied, alone in the corner with a drooping face and red eyes, acting out the inevitable scenario. it’s all so fucking predictable. why not drink ourselves comatose and sleep it off on the bank of the thames, down by the comfortable curve of deptford where I will rest my head on thirsty bricks and ragged faces half buried in the rust red sand. you should see their whisky eyes all confused by the time of day. the beginning seems just like the end.
am I back where I was, wandering down claustrophobic alleys and marking tablecloths with a slowburning cigarette. I don’t even smoke anymore. it makes me sick. the wine is cheap and cold and looks elegant beneath a rounded skyline. I leave finger prints on the glass. narrow streets, like deep sea crevices, and when I step out into the sun I’m blinded by the light. you can walk around this city without ever thinking about where you’re going. language is a floating backdrop, moving back and forth in the corner of your eye.
I like it even though it distracts me and how it burns and strays up my lungs like a disease I go mad with it and it burns me or I burn with it a web ablaze along my limbs l’m draped in electric wire with flickers of light in my bloodstream orange patches of light and it looks so strange from the outside I have such a wandering mind and you wouldn’t want to know it’s when they watch me I get all distracted highways of light stretch further and further away
and the same songs playing in the other room the same song
and then it goes quiet again and I hear voices through the walls. at nine I close my eyes underground and see trees of rust on dusty ground. you’ve gone off to see the world and what should I do. strings of skin keep coming off like death’s approaching. they say sunlight is like knives in your eyes on the other side.
but I see glass on fire against a clear cut sky. a million fragments swarm around my head. I have stars in my hair and shimmering eyes. I have become the woman they want me to be, a clean lie of sorts and limbs scattered all around. she smiles sweetly in dreams, but bites off your head with an angular jaw. will it ever rain again. the nights ahead are hot like hell. dense liquid fill the streets and hands are randomly clasped in prayer position along its way, down. with my head to the ground and eyes at the sky, I slice it open. the bulging horizon.