mourning fresh

this morning my friend stuck a knife in my back...literally. a giant kitchen knife. just a scratch though. we hugged. i cried, in response to the stab and other 'feelings' like possible sunday twinge-heart...

the meteorology reflects it all: freezing but sunny.

no-one will ever read this...i don't think anyone reads this.






that's
ok

inaccuracy

just like saying chocolate makes me feel all velvet-ripple, saying EXAM is like filing the gums off my teeth...

is it the turn of the season? or perhaps my affiliation with all creatures cold-blooded

i love hot.

tea so blistering it singes tongue cells and scorches my oesophagus.

the heat, so intense, it ignites stomach flickers and all the little hobgoblins living down there come out for a searing barbeque - an important social event for them to unite and discuss organ operational concerns.

sex

sometimes, saying 'chocolate' tastes better than eating it.

possibly a ridiculous thought, one so devoid of any real significance that it makes me feel fizzy

is there anything better than writing with a grey lead pencil sharpened to its prime?

i don't think so.

writing with a pencil, all pointy and tippy is enough. i would write all day.

it glides and grazes the page, effortlessly curving the ups and downs of letters and lines. i long to listen to that little scratch symphony...secret echoes, line by line as the lead wears away leaving words in its wake. whether pressure slight or strong, each quiver and quake that grey lead makes, is enough.

i would write all day.