been gone for a few days, went to melbourne for christmas and new years, it was a blast :)
Here is the frame with the label and glass; I am the insect and you are the pin, the puncture. A wolf with a sheep on your back and its blood still on your skin.
I wasn’t that happy with how I did last semester at uni so I tried to work harder and I actually ended up getting a mark I wanted and that was on top of having to do a bunch of extra shifts at work and trying to go to a ton of exhibition openings and I guess I’m just pleased with how everything turned out, despite my recent lack of social life and the near-total destruction of my sleeping patterns.
things are good.
the way that the church sits below the tree, and the curtains frame the balcony, like the space in my room where the bed meets the wall, in-between where I thought I would actually be and where fumbling is frequent but feelings are fleeting and all that it took was just one heart beating a bit out of time and your teratoid face takes my chin in its hands and I can’t look away when I’m constantly lost though I’m never quite losing, all this was my choice but it seems I’m still choosing to pick at the skin, to dissect, hack and chop at the things which felt right but I still chose to swap and though it’s no relief I still feel disbelief when my mouth forms the word but I never say “stop”.
hand on throat, the way you float away from me, the way you take off what someone else gave to me, the way you keep what I kept away from you, the way you do what you taught me to do, finger on pulse, what you want most, the castle walls, the only ghost of emotional death, and we both know that you knew me best, and you held me close. no warning, this mourning is too hard to hold, can’t clutch at your fingers, or catch and console, can’t pick heads off flowers and still keep them blooming, can’t take too much opium, can’t watch cartoons and when after ten years all your friends have turned phoney I’ll sleep until sunset but you’ll still be lonely.
he was golden, you were freezing
he was frozen, you were swimming
on the beach he shrugged his shoulders
in the sea your teeth were shaking
holding shoulders, towels dripping
shake your head because he’s taken
castles, sand and fragile moats
a bath, a grave, a single boat
a place you wouldn’t want to sleep
and only empty homes to keep
one side of a dune, you hide in the cold
with only confusion to hold