Grief is calmed into a dull ache and pain is persuaded to be liveable;
the numbness in your throat and the itching of your nerves, predictable for a long time,
until it isn’t.
Age does not startle or gut fervidly, she settles quietly into the empty cavity abandoned by youth.
Sometimes recollections of the first swallowing of the medicine confirms that someday arrived very quickly, greeting both the length and brevity of life in one moment, and forgetting it just as soon as it came. Continue reading “All Roads”
I remember the first time I learned that people died. The first time that I considered how our skin yielded to the ravages of time, and our eyes popped from our skulls to be devoured by small maggots and all manner of tiny things with many legs. I was sat on the floor, tucked beneath the ironing board, as my mother flattened the creases from clothes in a compassionate act of steam and warmth, placing them eventually, neatly folded, on the white leather sofa. In the years which would follow, the sofa would become brown and the woman conducting the ironing would change, but this had very little to do with death in the literal sense. More to the point and perhaps more disturbingly, I would also became too large to fit underneath the ironing board and would spend most of my time instead sneaking crisps into the pocket of my dressing gown, so that I could eat them in my bedroom without fear of judgement, or indeed fear of human interaction. Continue reading “(Un)Familiar”
I stand on the edge of the building, the wind combing between my fingers in a typically exhilarating fashion. I feel the disintegrating grit of the concrete nestle between my toes and inhale the terrifying vastness of the horizon, dispassionately. The sky’s velvet orange cradles the inconsiderate beige of the city, the skyline peppered with countless concrete constructions, towering above my insignificant frame, the insignificant building beneath me. Continue reading “Gloom”