Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

who knows you?

four kittens drowned in a plastic bag that someone paid 5p for

 

my mother hangs up on my failed suicide plea because her jam is boiling over

and really            it is a nightmare to get out.

 

i sit at the breakfast table picking rusted nails out of my porridge

you swear you never put them there

 

i have had a migraine for fourteen years

 

the last three notes i took read;

  • art
  • art
  • who knows you?

 

who knows me

a sentient sad sack of water and pity

 

i scatter things around my room, hoping someday someone will see them

and say

‘oh. that's a cool thing to own.’

 

my manifesto is this

a poem a day means you’re getting somewhere

even if it’s nowhere you want to go.

◄ adagietto

forty milligram xanax blues ►

Comments

Profile image

Stu Buck

Fri 1st Jul 2016 18:55

thanks both. this is an amalgamation of many nights of hopeless writing alongside a sad headline of yesterday (the kittens). im glad it comes together in some sort of desperate hope-paste.

Profile image

raypool

Fri 1st Jul 2016 17:25

very clever Stu. In the sort of wild abandonment of form it strikes a note of chaos and gets a strong message across. It speaks strongly of discontentment and riling that is typical of some upbringings.
The sort of thing I probably wouldn't dare attempt with too much control in my writing.

Ray

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message