Strawberry, mint and vanilla

In a dark corner of a 7-11 Samantha drooled on the pink and mint floor. Plump drops of thick liquid fastened her to madness in the eyes of the average onlooker and Angie Curtis was your average onlooker.

Tiff spun her candy cigarette in her fingers, it hit the tiles. She picked it up and returned it to her mouth with greedy swiftness and munched it into chalk.

All the while, the pool around Samantha grew and Angie’s anxiety went swimming in it, her body became more and more rigid and she sank into fear.

Samantha had gone to a place unheard of, with purple walls reaching into blackness, skies so vast it made one quiver on insect-jointed legs.

Confusing lines were drawn over and through things that we hold as opposite ends of a spectrum: day became night between breaths. It was hard to tell if you were outside or in, if you were breathing air or liquid chocolate or shit.

Clammy coldness flickered to feverish heat and the senses entwined in a swirling fluid chaos.

10 minutes of deadness in Samantha’s eyes made Angie frantic and convinced her of a harsh pragmatism encasing a deep and fearful desperation.

She emptied a water bottle over Sam’s head and with a wheezing shock and speed the two of them swept the shelves into their bags and bustled into the stock room at the back, dragging Tiffany with them.

After the adrenalin had worn off Samantha crashed into a pile of their coats and packing cardboard and slept heavily for hours.

Angie pushed all the packing crates against the door, stacking them into towers. She regretted soaking her, but it gave her something to think about as she wrung her clothes back into the empty bottle as best she could and hung them up.

After eating a miserable feast of sweets she would have once enjoyed, she sing-song spoke Tiff to sleep and fell into it herself. Her dreams were grasping hands and heavy footsteps.

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Cleft

The tree grew around Gary and he didn’t struggle, he was glad to be hemmed in.

The walls shot up in growing panels and clicked into natural place,

he was enveloped in the smooth, the woody gnarls on the outside, protecting him from the elements, and a wooden smile etched into his face.

Bill had planted the seed, and when he found Gary set inside so perfect, he wished he’d hacked more heartily with his hatchet.

He imagined Gary like the hazelnut in a toffee, cut in perfect half, and the wooden smile jumped across, rooting, delving, fingers rifling in his nut.

Night of the clubbing dead

Dream of viciousness and feeling lost.

Dream of bending over edges in high places and short skirts.

Dream of dark skies hiding neon colours in bricked rectangles.

Dream of bony fingers just clinging to their hinges, finding their way towards your mouth. Sucking them is accompanied by the very real fear that they might come off and you’ll be holding them between your lips.

Dream of violent altercation over who pissed on the floor, queue staying stubbornly intact all the while, through angry eyebrows and raised voices, a slammed door and a tut.

Dream of being summoned out with an arm in the air, giving a hateful glare but still having to traipse home with aching nubs for feet and never actually getting there.

Marble golem made of white with heart of unknown colour

Marble golem made of white with heart of unknown colour,

Image of a jewel set in pearly granite, static or with a life-full thump?

Picture clashes with suggestive possibility of bone-thin casing

Spread like icing over cake.

Marble golem’s working cogs click or turn in silence.

Hinges hidden by a falter in my vision or by the perceived being, filled with elusivity?

How much of you is your ivory outside, are you dense or hollow?

If I cracked you would you emerge gasping, or would you lie in pathetic pieces of regret?

Demon

Demon taps on the window.

Rat-tat-tat.

Demon taps on the door.

Rat-tat-tat.

Demon taps on your bedframe.

Demon taps on the floor.

Demon taps on the lightbulb

-Clink.

Demon taps on the fridge.

Demon taps on the bathroom mirror, but not from the side you think.

empty face

here’s the place

the place with no face

the place with the space to grow a face but without the intention

because the face is a needless accessory and in the gap something greater can grow,

in the gap the unknown becomes living and the space that should be occupied

by a face is more meaningful without one

so,

this place, this easel must remain blank

i draw this figure here, but the face has to stay away

because it’s edgy and everyone likes an edge right

the hood must stay up, the back must stay turned and the drawing on the earth must remain faceless or it’s just too familiar when the figure becomes a man or a woman or anything other than just that,

a shape, a spectre with an inbuilt mask to push someone from curiosity to fear

when they try and fill in the blanks with the worst thing they can think of