Published June 5, 2005
it bleeds dry sepia blood like cheap postcards
which we devour like burning chocolat chaud à l'école.
two chalk-white panadols are remaining in
the cutting, green-splashed foil with round, plastic indents.
i psychologically need more; my plait falls out.
plain, fluffy baguette and a green apple settle on my lips,
i can't follow any purple brick roads because they look too beautiful.
reading puberty blues in a park amidst drug dealers and police
sparks a thrill in me, yet a navy dull one.
waffles, rum and raisin icecream and nutella
leaves a bubbly trail of oil in my stomach,
i can feel it simmering in all its yellow fat.
fromage slices of la lune are faux in our lights,
a musical house burns down in an orangina rage.
there is a week on the calender and tears slither in my chest.
written: Wednesday 29th September 2004, 10:30pm.
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141,778 Literary Works • 675,750 Reviews
I really like the style you used for this. Very "talky," but not vernacular, you know.
The first line got me on this one. It was really interesting.
This was well written and thought-provoking. Nice work.