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N A Nov 2013
We walked down the street,
Sharp and cold.
Past the drunk flasher
And the broken boys on bicycles.
London, blue and orange,
Gives in to winter nights like I
Give in to sleep;
Guarding myself against the dreams
That always, always come.
But through exhaust fumes
And chemical hazes,
I still see the blinking Christmas lights,
And the pale death of autumn
Feels like my resurrection.
idk... i just wrote this after walking home from the pub
N A Oct 2013
"You have to get up," I said.

She lay
In his bed.
Blinds sliced the grey winter light.

Eyes dark,
My voice hoarse,
A hand at my aching head.

She asked,
"Why must I?"
As traffic noise rose and fell.

"Because you have to know when to leave the party, kid."

She got up
After that.
I suppose there was something in my voice
That didn't bear arguing with.
this actually happened and I forgot I'd written this in my writing journal afterwards...
N A Oct 2013
A flood has wrecked
What semblance of a home I'd built,
Hollowed me.
Gutted, creaking still.

You stand close,
Tell me you've always loved the rain.
****. Fuckfuckfuck. Still, this one went down well on tumblr, so there's that.
N A Oct 2013
Electronic beats like anxiety attacks
I taste metal and *****
Which is it?
Or is it my own blood from
Chewing on my lip too much
(Oops I didn't even know)

Smiling so wide my whole face
Hurts.
Don't you see your teeth are red?
Heart thunders in double time
There's something in here
The corner
Open your eyes and see nothing
(But you know it's there, right?)

Crying all night, so the light
Burns.
When did you last feel normal?
Let's ******* stay for just one more song
One more drink, then I'm done
I promise.
I'm not going crazy, nothing's wrong.
(Who's crying? I'm not crying.)

Let's stay awake while the world
Turns.
Don't take me home.
Don't take me home.

Take me
Home.
N A Oct 2013
mid-afternoon,
planes skim overhead on raw autumn winds.

almost a year ago,
two girls,
high on the promise of life,
played a game.

time flies when you're having fun

laughter
like the screeching brakes of a train
hangovers
like police sirens

no one wins the games we play

a vapour trail,
and i correct my previous statement:
time flies,

regardless.

— The End —