Autobiography

margins i am becoming like a series of pencil strokes; an addendum. squeezed in without thought whilst waiting for the kettle to boil. just a name, left to curl and fray

It was a breach!

Grease on the pavement, scaffolds pass-by Dust in the eyes from their rusting hulks Past Slutty Cat’s mansion and on to the road Running down streets where traffic is slowed

When you can't understand that we don't know what to do and your throat is raw from fumbling at the vowels - we just hold you. Keep you safe in our warm, amniotic bubble.