daisychristabel
My blanket smelled like milky tea and boiler rooms and illusory bouquets of rose bay willow herb but we were thrown into the Wye and sank into the mud, sinking between petals and uprooted endings.
I never read the manual. I can't be taught by watching practical demonstrations. To instruct me, you must educate me with words, with rhetoric, with concepts to wrap my head around and facts to anchor my thoughts down.
Low hanging branches. woven into a roof
Over you between your brain and the blue sky
Daily turning over with grey and navy blue
Glittering with golden stars
Eternity illuminated from here
the Priory lodge. It was where the eating disordered patients were housed. Priory Court was for the addicts. Somehow it sounded more ominous and grown-up. Priory Court. But Lodge. It was our counterfeit family comfort, our shadow smiles on the sofa under tinsel
I never went camping. We had a country house in Wiltshire. That was where I first learnt about Jane Austen, at the same time as learning about bleeding people using leeches, and a few years prior to when I first learnt what a white lie is. I remember seeing it in the rear window and driving away and I didn't cry. I went camping with my boyfriend. It hurt my back
I drank it backwards from the can to stop the hiccups. It never fails. I do it because I hiccup backwards, and it hurts. It hurts because my chest gets pulled in and the air expelled violently out of me from my muscles and chest and lungs and middle tightened parts, and it sounds like I've been punched in the gut. No up.
churning engine, riffs of waves and skis upturned and boats and wrecks and gulls cry overhead, pulling at the string, kicking the wheels that turn, upturn, downturn, mouth that won't stop spilling with words, churning, running out, emptying, emptied out, motor dead
The library is exactly the same as it was the morning I was shot in the head in the history section, only colder, and quieter, and bluer.
Sometimes it's made of iron and steel, rusting over years and standing now in museums, alongside the swords behind layers of glass. Sometimes it's worn on the outside of people you meet everyday. Utterly invisible to the naked eye, just to protect them from the world
Don't watch me with your fat flat clock face.
Time is playing tick-tock-toe with me.
I am running out of here, I'm getting carried away.
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