Why my baby, aren’t you special, so glowing and angelic with your darling little curls. Would you like a sugarplum to put between your fat red lips, juices running down your plump little hands? Anything for you my dearest, anything for you. If only it would choke you.


Sometimes things are just beautiful.

 A lot of the time, the thing is you.


Sometimes I wish I could go insane. Fall off the edge, go cuckoo,  loco, off my trolley. Skip around the supermarket naked and holler at the moon, scratch and bite and spit and sing and smear their blood up the walls. And it wouldn’t be my fault.  And I wouldn’t care.  And nothing would matter. Just another fucking bat shit crazy girl loving her way through life. Instead, I sit here and stew, a prisoner to my sanity.

There’s a chill in the air, you have a stuffy nose but don’t worry, it makes your eyes shine brighter. I’ve been collecting teapots and wooly scarves so we are prepared. Phantom bonfires are enticing me as I anticipate those nights when we stand beneath the stars,  real and man-made, craning are necks to immerse ourselves more fully in their beauty, straining our arms to share our warmth. Share our everything. I miss you before you’ve gone.

Oh, but you can say it so much better, the words roll off your tongue like honey to coat our thumping hearts.

I guess all I can do is say it: say it now, scream it to the sky and whisper it to your skin, say it in any way I can.

Because otherwise, how will you ever know?

I’ve swallowed my voice, or you have- maybe when I dreamt that you kissed me. It’s hiding now, deep in the pit of my stomach, I know because I can feel it squirming and writhing when you are around.  Perhaps its ashamed. You make me say things I should never say. And I hate you for it.

Time comes to consume us, devouring our precious hours, minutes, seconds and there is nothing we can do but cling to the dust called memories that he leaves in his wake. Soon, sooner than you might care to think about, we will be scattered over all four corners of the world. But please, promise me one thing: I will not ask for you to stay with me forever (although I pray that you will) I will not ask for you to remain forever the same (although you are brilliant exactly as you are) and I will not even ask for you to think of me (when there are so many other more wonderful things to come). I only ask that although time may force us to grow old and separate, you will remember that he can never force us to grow up.

It grows higher everyday. The stack of words, friends, magic to be delved into whenever she chooses. Like an addiction. There’s not a lot of room left now, between the teetering piles of musty old relics, rescued from basements and park benches, concert halls and waiting rooms. But what can she do? To leave one behind would be sacrilege. They whisper their sweet stories to her as she passes by and she knows that as she sleeps curled between the pages, she will drift gently to new lands and new loves on their paper wings.  She is only to give them a home.

Buses made her feel lonely. She sat at the back, hood up, a dark little figure amongst the brash neon’s of the workers’ fluorescent jackets. Remembered laughter superimposed itself over the sounds of  the children at the front: laughter from a time long past, when things were different. She wondered if she would ever stop hearing that sound, harsh and beautiful- pure, if you forgot what came after. She wondered if she would ever want to stop. It was unlikely. For all the pain it caused her she couldn’t let it go.

Have you found your new home, listening to the raindrops on the window and breathing in the scent of memories? I think I have, but it will have to wait awhile for me, my old one isn’t ready to let me go. Maybe I’ll take you there one day, I’d like that.