The fan stopped humming
seven am
on the dot.

A power cut.
A new alarm.
A welcome hand
reaching in
to the darkest of dreams.

I found myself downstairs
drifting through the quiet.
The peace of still electrics.
A midnight lake of a living room.

I checked the fridge —of course.
The freezer too.
I’ll have to eat it all, I thought.
And so began. Tomatoes, lettuce,
cheese, four pints of milk,
some leftover tuna and beans,
all splattered, all heaped,
all puddled at my feet.

I stopped. Closed the fridge
and slipped past the prison guard
of a mirror, squinting out
the peripheral.

The fan began turning
and the day began again.
A second chance
to consider
my name.

" You can ask the universe for all the signs you want, but ultimately, we see what we want to see when we’re ready to see it. "
by Unknown (via disagreed)

(Source: chim0, via thedarkdarkbright)

each morning
I drive past
not looking
not looking
not waving
but holding on
to the wheel
to a twisted steel stomach
like that
of train lines
from sleepers.

" death: that dickhead at the party 

who takes it too far 

and this time I’m not

sparing sympathy 

for his history.
by Greg Webster (aka loqui), from death death DEATH. (via thornpuller)

or in dreams of your mouth,
lost in words I imagine
swimming around your mouth,
the ones
I would like to see spilling
from your mouth,
lost in endless
night sky of your mouth,
lost in closed-jaw comfort,
lost in teeth down muting,
numbing of the bite, lost in
over the threshold
sparkling skies whiteout
of your mouth —
all blank, all quiet, all continual
noise blanketing sine wave, lost
in the everything
of nothing else getting
a word in
to your mouth
or mine.

If you’re into Haiku here’s a thing. it’s got lots of em in it. I wrote one.

the real


of you.

mistakes inevitable
for unpredictable.

death death DEATH:
the realest dream.

death: the moment we all
wake up.

death death DEATH: the only
death death DEATH: the kick
in every action.
death: a return to 20/20 hearing
and vision
just so you can see it all happen.

death: that dickhead at the party
who takes it too far
and this time I’m not
sparing sympathy
for his history.

death: GTFO

death: you are the rain
death: I know you’ll come again
another day. another day.
death. hands wet
with a leaking face
where every reservoir
is depleted.

death: you ate all the birthday cake
and death you stripped
in front of an oncoming train
and death you have the widest smile because
you keep on stealing from others
and somehow death I know
I know I know
one day I’ll look in your eye
and forgive you.

death: an empty vessel
floating back to shore,
the single wilted rose,
the cracking skin
around a mouth beginning
to open, unable
to say a thing.

some trees
are like fists
through the ground.

some days
are just born
to be a sky
full of spears.

some call it rain,
some dance.
while others
create cover,
knitting their own limbs
to another.