Photo by Alexander Possingham on Unsplash

I’m all round face — good morning

swollen eyes, errors, eyelashes stuck

together, mouth, morning breath — sour

could shake loose a tooth, bring a lost tear

to the brim. I’m so wired

fractured nails from picking, scratching

at inside itches. wired wrong,

so many errors, did you dream about me?

when you tossed and turned, woke up

thirsty, cold — I was dreaming of you,

woke up soaked with sweat and a wet

mouth. why is it so easy

for me to love you, no matter what,

so easy to hate myself

no matter what. I try to cleanse

It was like I knew something was wrong before it all happened but I was too busy being busy to really notice you know like busy with work, driving to work, music too loud to hear my own thoughts, busy with going places to distract myself, to kill time, busy with sleeping and not sleeping and being tired and talking about being tired and then everything changed and stopped and so did my body, LOCKDOWN she said, and slammed on the breaks. She said NO, NO MORE, and I was confused, like no more of what? You’re fine, we’re doing…

love doesn’t make any sense in words.

all i know is, i was sitting on the stairs and a thought came into my head

about missing you

and then the…

i am sitting at the kitchen table

in silence watching water pour from the tap

i should have turned off

and i am wearing clothes that smell

like grease


who’s pets are we

and are we good? loved?

are we well behaved? is the gentle breeze

on an october afternoon god’s version

of a pat on the head?

are we dangerous? do some of us

need to be muzzled

caged, what about the ones with guns?

and the strays

do they too feel the warm brush of wind

like a scratch behind the ear

or does the wind skip past them

leaving them to be only touched by the rain.

sometimes i think about a dog on a long lead.

how to them, it seems like freedom.

for a…

I was in love with you before I met you.

In love with the idea of you. The idea of a dog to call my own, to cuddle, go on walks. A best friend.

I cried when I opened the wrapped piece of paper with your photo on it.

How many of my tears, dedicated to you?


You were hard work.

The best sort of hard work. I was too young to know how to properly train you.

No one ever showed you much patience.

You showed us plenty.


Somedays, mostdays. …

G.M Stone

I finished my first novel, but I can’t let it go.

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