A day of shaky hands, of a dry spit mouth. A Hermit life style, sheltering from the beautiful non-descript afternoon, I’ll remain in my cave of white walls and wooden floors, hung, suspended waiting for the break of a sun-setting dawn. The quiet and solitude that has been longed for is temporarily placated. A brief moment in a deaf world of soft yellow lighting and some flaking squiggles on the wall.
The storm after calm has finally arrived. Where dwells a constant will to remain alive and in the party, lives an impulse, to flee, from myself and here. That feeling was not to be submitted too: that is not the will of a Saturday night.
Sipping sake through painted giant card faces. The reactionary text, a reason to shut the door and cross the road.
One walk, half a duck, two cups of tea and a found chair later I arrive back to be given hugs, screams. And kisses once I feel like shit. Again. I take another drink more.
My friends are laughing, I think someone is definitely crying. That one’s just fallen over and now the explanation will go on for minutes. It’s ok, I do it to her too, but not tonight, not today. I have somewhere to play.
I find a space and squeeze through, learning my French as I go, to the wall where I sit and stare through a window at the place I just left. I miss my friend I left for you all. We have no places left anymore .
Walking through the door I call out for a pigeon and find a reflection I don’t want to see. A confused memor, an image of something I don’t remember and ignore.
Two drinks, Four kisses, One cleared room and now, a leaking pipe, an alarm and water in my eye. Running and shouting and alarms repeating, it’s action, it’s a purpose and I like this sense, it makes my numb head feel.
Wiggling, walking a lovely sunrise, to a place that is my cave. Family awaits and an excuse begins. Another itinerary read, another life described. I look through her eyes and forget my own name. My smoke is more interesting, my smoke is my sleep inducing friend.
For an hour.
Then awoken for breakfast in a bearded eye coma. Ginger and mushrooms and silently deafening myself to the next time I’ll eat you.
For the last time, we sit in silence, with hairy dogs in glasses, a 2D church and holding hands. Not really thinking and waiting. Waiting to wake up and meet my shaky hand, a dry spit mouth. Encased in a clouded cave of; white walls, wooden floors, soft yellow lighting and some flaking squiggles on the wall.
The storm after calm has finally arrived. Where dwells a constant will to remain alive and in the party, lives an impulse, to flee, from myself and here. That feeling was not to be submitted too: that is not the will of a Saturday night.
Sipping sake through painted giant card faces. The reactionary text, a reason to shut the door and cross the road.
One walk, half a duck, two cups of tea and a found chair later I arrive back to be given hugs, screams. And kisses once I feel like shit. Again. I take another drink more.
My friends are laughing, I think someone is definitely crying. That one’s just fallen over and now the explanation will go on for minutes. It’s ok, I do it to her too, but not tonight, not today. I have somewhere to play.
I find a space and squeeze through, learning my French as I go, to the wall where I sit and stare through a window at the place I just left. I miss my friend I left for you all. We have no places left anymore .
Walking through the door I call out for a pigeon and find a reflection I don’t want to see. A confused memor, an image of something I don’t remember and ignore.
Two drinks, Four kisses, One cleared room and now, a leaking pipe, an alarm and water in my eye. Running and shouting and alarms repeating, it’s action, it’s a purpose and I like this sense, it makes my numb head feel.
Wiggling, walking a lovely sunrise, to a place that is my cave. Family awaits and an excuse begins. Another itinerary read, another life described. I look through her eyes and forget my own name. My smoke is more interesting, my smoke is my sleep inducing friend.
For an hour.
Then awoken for breakfast in a bearded eye coma. Ginger and mushrooms and silently deafening myself to the next time I’ll eat you.
For the last time, we sit in silence, with hairy dogs in glasses, a 2D church and holding hands. Not really thinking and waiting. Waiting to wake up and meet my shaky hand, a dry spit mouth. Encased in a clouded cave of; white walls, wooden floors, soft yellow lighting and some flaking squiggles on the wall.
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