Don’t you just hate the cheery messages: “Can’t talk right now, systems down”. Note to email server- I don’t want to ‘talk’, right now, I don’t want a new friend,
The girl who rented my room before me was afraid of spiders. When she came to decorate she found one, in the middle of the back wall. Instead of asking someone to move it for her,
Walk to work, curse the pitch of gravel under my feet, hungover again. Sickening sun rattles my conscience. Emerge from the underpass, to find the old man. Bent double like a diver
It’s an alarm in the morning. It’s the hole in my shoe, It’s the taste in my mouth. It’s never saying never, It’s twenty-eight of a hundred, It’s a piano.
I keep those thoughts tucked away in the orange folder that I stole from work, wrapped in a Bag for Life hidden at the bottom of my top drawer, snug beneath my underpants.