13 November 2011


I am too old to be heartbroken
I should be a young sylph in white drapery, crumpled
One should think of pale mournful eroticism
With splintered heart evident in my fractured swan wings, unnaturally bent

Being old and heartbroken is snot and the tears under the chin
The crying is too self indulgent , I took pictures of myself this time
I should delete them, my puffy face with it’s before surgery look
They don’t remind me of you. Not that I want that, of course. Damn, tripped myself up.  Insert today’s preferred invective here.

I can’t summon up that energetic state of sobbing now
Blinking, biting lip, repeating to myself what I read in your words, the words themselves are dulled now, by repetition, by a shell, above all by not wanting to feel.
You didn’t actually say it made you sick to think of me, not in those exact words, you described how you were not sleeping, and when you did sleep, how you woke sweating and sick with guilt at the thought of meeting me again.
You did not mean that I made you sick but that was all I could see in your words.

We have stopped speaking before, I forget how many times
Actually,  I never counted, I could guess at four, it might be three or five
But, you never told me I made you sick before.  I always thought, the ups and downs are part of us
Always we knew it was not really final, the wire was never snipped, it remained inert between us until something or other made me pick it up again, set off a thrumming and hope that you would feel the reverberation

You never said I made you sick before

Last night I heard a miaou, and I opened the door to nothing
Sometimes, still, the former playmate of my departed cat still sits on the garden bench, but I suspect it is more for the peace and the sunlight and the absence of wind rather than the companionship of Seville's ghost

I wanted to make this time not final, I even pulled my punches when telling you that we would not talk again
I said you were selfish but it was human to prioritise one’s own peace of mind over another’s happiness
I did not comment on the size of your dick

You never said I made you sick before
ragged feral creature that I am, I keep on going back to that vomit pile of grief.

03 August 2011

I know

sadly neglected here... been busy with other stuff... but...

sadly neglected my self
(story of my life)
gladly watched others
living a normal life
and wondering
why I don't want it
I have no answer yet
other than being greedy
I want more, of everything
I want you to notice me
I don't want you to think
that you can pick me up again
when your life isn't so hectic
but I hate to think
that you will never pick
me up again
and sometimes, like now,
it seems a distinct
I know, I should find
a shred of self respect
tell myself, you're not worth it,
you only share the tiniest sliver
of yourself with me
when no-one else is looking
I know.
I watched some people
in that normal life and
because of you
I wondered if their life
was a lie, just like yours.
Like mine, I know.

01 June 2011

things to do before you turn 40

wondering how many people remember their last orgasm before the big four-oh...
guess I just had mine, sadly solo...

on a totally unrelated note there is a cucumber scare here in Germany...

10 May 2011

storm in a tea cup

The lightning is forking through the sky, horizontally and looks pink and purple. The trees show the undersides of their leaves as the wind whips around. I sit at my computer with a frightened cat and realise I have no-one to reach out to, no-one at the other side of the screen who is interested any more. I wonder what the chances of being struck by lightning are, more when there actually is a storm out there I suppose?

Is it a hopeful sign that I have not sent this mail to you yet, that there is some kernel, an unexploded popcorn seed of self worth that contains all the pride I have left? My finger hovers over the mouse, wondering which button I will press.

20 April 2011


I only spill myself when things are shit
When things were good
I wanted to hug them to me,
smile a secret smile
that wasn't so secret
that told everyone
I believe in love
and what's more
I believe in myself.
Today I do not

23 March 2011


I need to learn (again) that just because someone acts like they want to be with you, it doesn't mean they really do, or that they are prepared to do anything about it. 

I need to learn not to be so trusting, and not to believe that it means something special and life-changing when someone says "I love you".

Like physics lessons, this is not something I want to learn, I just need to, in order to get where I want in the short term. I want an exoskeleton.

05 March 2011

always after...

After my haircut, I have soft fur at the back of my neck.  I can feel his fingers rustling through it, his thumb caressing the fuzzy hollow at the base of my skull.  I see him tilting my face upwards to his, see my face pale and oval, see the dark fringe point to my underwater green eyes.  I see myself from outside and inside and I look pretty.
It isn't real, he isn't here, but he is talking as if that might happen next week, or maybe the week after, although I know my hair will grow and grow straggly before that is real.  I will look in the mirror and the sheeny chocolate colour from the hairdressers will grow dull, and my eyes will not fade but lose the light of belief in my attractiveness.
He tells me he has to go now, his dinner is burning in his kitchen, their kitchen, and though his mind was only just full of me I fade out to a ghost for him then. He does compartmentalise so, although he is drinking vodka at the family table. 
He will catch me later, he says.  I know not to trust too literally in that, I have fallen here before and he stepped away. With my pretty haircut I will not notice the grazed knees, not until after.

22 February 2011

yeah talking helps...

He said, I am thinking

about moving

to the other side of the 


She said, it will be

a great opportunity,

and he cried.

If only someone

had said

don't go, I want you


06 February 2011

only boring people are bored

I woke up mid afternoon as the sunlight kidney filtered & pale urine coloured tapped at my eyelids.  I got up to do nothing, to be nothing, shrugged the chenille jumper back on and pushed the gap between my first two toes into the flip-flops.

I sagged over this screen to see if you had been thinking of me even though it is a Sunday and I knew you would not, you would be somewhere walking the dog along the beach, no wait, that was in the other house, before you moved to be close to your in-laws and the ready made babysitting facilities.  I still hoped you would think of me but it gets harder to hold a picture of me in your head when real life is happening around you and I am doing nothing, perhaps in suspended animation until you have a fleeting moment to think, to reminisce.

I see the little blobs above the houses and shops when I close my eyes now doing nothing but clicking here, clicking there, clicking where I am told to by the dumb computer game and I accept it and let this limited structure be my life, do as I am allowed as I am expected to do.  Will I take this half promotion which means more work and less recognition, oh yeah sure since you ask, no not nicely just since you ask and I must do that stuff as it would be impolite not to.

I read someone say they had boundaries of tissue paper and I thought of how I do nothing and let tissue paper become my boundaries, build fucking great concrete prisons out of tissue paper, and I did not used to be like this and I am getting worse and worse at hiding it.  Muslin curtains at the windows are enough to seal the world from me.

I sent a message out into the aether, no not to you, to someone who was a distraction from you for a while, an incandescent spark of distraction that is burnt out now because I am so boring and stale.  He used to push me on too, tell me things, say things to me and I drew stuff out of myself to reply, building, pulling and pushing at myself and what I thought were boundaries but now they are not even tissue paper, yesterdays toilet paper and flushed away and I am too far below notice to be worth a reply now.

The sun is going down in a small fizz of light mostly hidden by the metal grey indifferent clouds and the lights in my flat are on and I am opaque to the world outside the windows again.

31 January 2011

why not to get back in touch with exes...


poke poke


look at me


I am bitten

10 January 2011

censored poets

I have a new poem over there ;)

Censored Poets: Short coming

09 January 2011

on waking

I smelt strong this morning, I must have been aroused in the night, in some lost dream.  I wonder who and how.

06 January 2011

In between days

He wants 
one thing from me
In between times
I hibernate
for all he knows.
He whispers
wicked words
to wake me.
I want the same thing
from him too, but...
I will always lose
as I want more
than one thing.
I want words
I want whispers
I want wickedness
but most of all
I want not to hibernate.