The London Years
Poems from back when I first began writing to just before I left the Big Smoke.
Calmly sit and blankly stare, Nothing means anything and you’re nowhere. healthier to choose numbness than screaming “I CAN’T FUCKING COPE!” Because at the end of the day,
I’m breathless, Gasping, Suffocating, Winded. The air’s been struck out of me So I’m panting, Like the asthmatic that I’m not. I’m just thirsty for oxygen.
I’m like those furry boots you buy from Tesco when you can’t afford Uggs. I’m like Sainsbury’s Basics chocolate that tastes like crap once you’ve eaten Lindt.
Hand plunged deep Into foamy, disarrayed, cleanest of all messes. -Fresh, citrusy, lukewarm- Stings her scratched up knuckles. Tired fingers handle thickly cut plates and wooden spoons
To be read fast Red room Hazy gloom Latino tune Near full moon Silver straps Rhythmic claps Quick-footed traps “A dance perhaps?” Too late to leave Don’t think –believe
There’s something strange about this place, Between breathy dark and early dawn, A silence noisy with the whirring of restless minds. Night time never fully black In a city with insomnia.
Just keep sucking on that cigarette and dumb yourself down with that slow lispy voice. Give your black liner one final check and curl your lip in a...
So this woman came to school today to talk to us about sex. She brought a banana and a sock and said "what happens next?" Well Sophie’s hand shot...