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A week in Rome. Part 1.
A week in Rome. Part 1.
The air in Rome is dirty. I can feel it weighing on my chest. Each breath heavy with the fumes of busy city life. I realise how spoiled I am to have grown up in the country with air clean and crisp like cut glass. A man in workman’s trousers, a thin puffer jacket, and a blue baseball cap, sharpens knives collected from the surrounding restaurants and cafes in the boot of his car. The grinding…
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Brave
Blood in my mouth, arteries stuck between teeth. A triple bypass and I’m still choking. Fingers scrap away flesh to find a hollow. Bones bend in piercing pulmonary absence. I can feel my ribs threading fingers with my spine. A concave. Is this what it feels like to be brave? Lungs crushed, begging for a puncture so that air gasp and at last I will breathe.
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Ignorance was bliss
I sow the seeds of doubt in your mouth but you spit them back out. Life is not a dot to dot A B C there are no steps to make this passage easy. I can’t be a pig in shit . I want grit. To grind my heel against the blue of our skies. I want blood on my hands when I see the sun rise. I want to be pushed over the brink. I want Rorschach not iron gall ink. Cover my hands black and let it crisscross in…
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Weed
Born out of rebellion stubborness gritted teeth determination. Earthed in cement but still feeling the hot sun cool rain and defiant breeze. You have travelled a long way to put down seeds and root in the places where you shouldn’t be. “Weeds are just flowers that grew in the wrong places.”
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The Witching Hour
We are the calm before the storm. The quiet in the disquiet. The moments inbetween falling apart and being reborn. We are the flux between solitude and amity. Like weeds inbetween paving stones we thrive against the odds, growing up between two hard places growing up and out of lack of love lack of touch.
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Find me
My words jar threatening scars. Half sentences beginnings letters turn to ash and clash with hesitation negation and (more…)
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Breakdown
I had a breakdown by the sea. Broke down like the grinding of stone into sand grit between teeth shells in my knees. I am (more…)
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Unphased
You think I’m afraid? I am brazen. I will not falter to walk the walk of (more…)
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Monday
Emotion writhes under my skin as sobriety kicks in. I feel my function fuck up and fuck away. I am angry. Can you hear me (more…)
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Untitled III
Volatile, I am ripped by wind and shaken port side into the sea.  You peel off my layers until I am bone bare.  Is this what you wanted?  To see cartilage shipwrecked on the bed, sheets torn and soaked with sweat?  I can scream a storm, bite like thunder lightning flash you fear teeth sinking deep into blue-black waters where eyes roll back sea surf white.  I can fuck like fire, red hot skin…
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Sapiosexual
Two glasses of wine plus the meeting of minds and I am wet. Intelligence oozes from your tannin stained mouth, soaking my cerebral muscles. Knee knocking I am destabilised by Plathian-Hughes brutality. I quake for that intellectual stimulation. I am undone by the scope of your mind, the way that you think.
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Untitled
Chest choked I look the other way. Feet fall and we fall into awkward strides. Silence breaks open the ribcage steaming hot. Words force us to confront and stitch the cuts. Mud caked boots, my bitten tongue bleeds. I cried in the Teifi, but found salt in the Tregynon breeze.
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Untitled
I am the child who gabbles garbage and spews forth words in panic stricken white rabbit red eyes in the headlights grip of nervous fear. (more…)
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A Night for Anthony Jones (a.k.a. Trance)
Here’s a piece I wrote for The Parrot on a charity event they hosted in aid of WWAMH in memory of Anthony Jones. A Night for Anthony Jones (a.k.a. Trance) Â
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Nina Is Not OK by Shappi Khorsandi
Having read Shappi Khorsandi’s autobiography, and the quotes of praise on the back of Nina Is Not OK, I was anticipating a humorous novel. Do not be fooled as I was. Nina is NOT OK. (more…)
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Midday drinking
We started our day in a cafe with coffee and cake. Mum ordered a chocolate filled pastry-thing and a cappuccino. I had a double espresso. An unfortunate habit I’ve developed since travelling Europe, not because it’s a double espresso, but because I tend to have a total of three throughout the whole day. We’d overslept and were heading to the Louvre much later than we’d hoped. When we got there…
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See you in Paris
See you in Paris
I arrived in Paris late. My rucksack was heavy and I wanted to go to bed. I’d been on the move for fifteen hours since waking up at 4:30am and boarding my first train in Konstanz at 6:30am. Mumma was meeting me off the Metro at Pigalle. She’d travelled out the same day but had arrived earlier and already checked into our hotel. We were staying at Hotel Sacré-Cœur, not far from Montmartre.…
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