Whisper grey smudges onto me and make me dusty
Dusty like the evening spirals on her mother’s T.V-lit carpet.
Tassels, toussles, a soft hurricane
Bruises left and replaced with denim.
With the blue lights, thrown, by colossal sirens
Turning my blood blue.
Brushing the concrete of this swamp,
The smell of petrol makes my heart race.
A caffeinated demon expels its embryos with ripe fruits.
The car’s on fire, darling.
Sitting at the computer in wired isolation.
A lot of ghosts here, just screen watching.
Release us from the clock.
Charge me up, a spell for combustion.
How about a boxing match?
I Prefer to Be Cold
Bought and Sold
Turned blue-green mould
Dripping wet and soon to be told
A holly leaf turned 18 years old
Staring hungrily, only to fold
I prefer to be cold