An American in London

I like to think I'd be a part of Hemingway and Fitzgerald's posse.

Month: May, 2014

Falling to pieces.

My toes fell off last night.

In the darkness they fled,

sliding between my sheets,

jumping out of my bed,

and abandoning me.

I noticed only when I woke

and quickly fell to the floor.

Unable to stand,

I spent the day

on the carpet.

 

My fingers ripped themselves off today.

Bloody and tired

from dragging my

helpless body,

they popped off and clawed

their way out the window

and down the drain,

leaving me.

 

Even my eyes now have gone.

They escaped and roll around the floor now

in utter lunacy,

leaving the holes in my head

to create their own

image of disaster.

 

My ears are melting down

my sore, stumpy arms.

My tongue

lies wasted in a ball

on the floor

where even the cat

only scratches at it

before turning it’s head.

 

A scattered mess

of limbs and flesh,

crushed bones,

and sore muscles,

broken skin and

ripped tendons

on a carpet now

wet and dripping

with angry red slop.

 

Soon I’m melted completely.

my clothes laid out

neatly on the floor

and my toes,

my fingers,

my liberated limbs

no longer weep for me.

Advertisements

The house where you live.

The flowers in the vase

in the hallway

are dead again.

You waited too long

to replace them and now

the house smells like dirt

and the colour’s gone.

 

The radiator is broken.

It’s too hot in the kitchen

and too cold in the lounge

and you have to walk

back and forth between them

to feel comfortable.

 

The stairs in the attic are creaking.

You can’t go searching in silence.

They announce your ascent

to the house and

like a scared feline you jump

and retreat

because the secrets you keep

there must remain.

 

So you drink cold coffee

in the hot kitchen

and smoke in the lounge

and do all you can to stay away

from that desolate hallway

that smells like dirt

with the flowers that now

hang limp around the vase

and the light bulb goes out

and the door never opens

and all that’s left is an occasional creak

as the stairs fall under

a heavy weight.