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Showing posts from 2018

Old writing about him

You turned into a little boy when you crawled into bed. Out of bed you became a man again
Mascara stained pillow cases
I made coffee to seduce you - make you feel a little good about the day - the day you are to die
We couldn’t take our eyes off you for a second, because we knew - a lifetime without looking at you would be never as good.
Powerful in your highs and lows

A song that needs some chords

My best friends purse
She makes a puddle of her things A puddle of herself
Came home tonight The contents of your purse were on the kitchen floor Lipstick, no lid, loose smokes What were you looking for
Wondering when you’ll find All the people you’ve become All the places you run from
Keys were in the door Stockings halfway up the stairs I hear him coming round But I’m not sure he really cares

Going on 10 years

I caught myself going back there again last night. I visit the time and place in my head where he used to be alive. The people are there, his people, and I revisit. Inevitably it always ends with”he’s not back yet” “no” okay, I’ll come backa’ later.
 I know he won’t be back but it feels like maybe next time.
Although our brains are the most sophisticated machines on earth, they’re rendered almost childlike when confronted with grief. They speak only in the simplest terms.
Where is he? He’s gone Why He’s dead When’s he coming back  He’s not That’s ok I’ll wait
How can he be so real in my memory but not real at all in my day to day? So I live with this illogical idea that I know is illogical but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain it to my brain for it to fully understand