Archive for the Little Black Book Category
You Can Quote Me (yet again)

Friends with benefits
doesn’t always sit
well with me
but then I guess
it depends
on the man
summoning me.

Weirdos on the train
Same shit
Different colour

Come to the party; there
You have my invitation
don’t you give me
no excuse.

The book overflowing
words melt through
the pages
the written history
mine true possession
full of prose
no one knows.

Filling in the spaces
Trading places
with a blank sheet
desperate to meet
her dipping pen
a pause
in the script
She shakes the ache
from her hurried
hand – and
writes again.

I am the Canvass

My Adonis,
I dreamed of you
last night
as always
your sweet kisses
a smudged lip
unidentifiable ?
and in blends
you make art
your fingers.

You Can Quote Me

Stiff fingers. Is it wrong to love the rain and hate the cold?

The unattainable I must appear or else you would have found me here.

Friendship is a free consultation.

This madness: my straight line In infinite sadness

I’m just a piece of meat on a silver plate. Something you’re bound to eat but never taste.

I am slowly getting over my drinking problem.

I am an imposter in this body.

I am the bad woman come to steal your man. Not because I want him: just because I can.

The lengths one goes to.

The rising sun spawns a thousand ideals.

Anticipation; will this goddamn train leave already?

Come out of the dark and howl at the moon.

I am playing with alter egos.

The single girl with her disposable income could go far in this place.

Good people and good business dealing ensure my return.

The sad song plays along. I find comfort in lyrics written for another.

This headache is more than I can take.

You give me that look: the melting kind.

My train hisses underneath. The air hums with electricity.

I’d like to read myself to you; like a book. Yes, it would be that easy.

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