What to do

A light show, in the
privacy of my own eyes.
I watch, one, two, three, a flutter.
The drone, that's what it has become.
Been reduced to. I don't want to hear,
but it what if it comes up.
On Thursday.
The day. God save us all! I worry.
Maybe just me, not us all.

I need to redo that one. I wonder.
Whip out my iPhone, quick Instagram.
But then it's gone.
Why? Not like this will help, I don't care.
So what? They always talk down to you,
how awfully unnerving.
I sigh. A roll. What to do.
What to do.
What to do.

Time

Calm. Neurones, impulses. Calm.
Don't think about it. Just an hour.
It'll be over! Think about it,
the freedom. The enjoyment.
Just for a little while
back to work of course.
No time like the present.
The sands of time, quickly,
quickly.

I tap my pencil, what does that mean?
Yes, yes, glucose, ah maybe that's it.
I don't know! It's hopeless.
The piercing stare.
Over my shoulder.
Leave me be! Leave me alone!
I can't concentrate.
Tick. Where's the tock.

How was it? Oh, that old one.
I don't know, alright? What use is it.
Bad. Awful. MCDs, here I come.
Do you have my apron?
That's my future.
Laid out for me.
Oh, that damn glucose.

Forgive and Forget.

I remember, Cinderella story. Sleeping Beauty. Snow White.

I would wake up, yes, and you would lay the soft petals upon my own. 

then my whole world would make sense! At last. The meaning to life.

It would dawn, upon my youthful heart. 

Then you'd take me. We'd ride, far far away, to another land.

Princess. Glitter. Pink. Love.

that's what I wanted. That what I expected of you.

Do you think it's my fault? I really don't know.

Maybe, to depend on another is a sin. 

Are we not told, to follow our heart? Was that so wrong.

Apparently it was.

forget. don't forgive though, don't do that. 

that dirty little... he doesn't deserve it. 

it's an easy tap at the right key, and off through the network it goes.

to find a home. an unpleasant surprise, flashes before me.

I feel rage. Hurt. Tears. 

Why am I upset? I blame myself. No. 

Stop. Forget.

But never forgive.

Creme de la Rose

next page. Staring at the wall.

The paint (Creme de la Rose, Crown), it's interesting.

Is it not? It's a wonder, you know, how it's so smooth,

you'd think, that with the clunky, old, clogged up brushes that it would

be lumpy, and rough. 

Anyway. Too much wandering.

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Okay, that makes sense, I'll make a note of it. 

That window needs to be cleaned. I'll run it by mum,

She'll send someone over. 

The pile of work seems to be growing, or is it just me?

Time has flown by, seemingly. I did not even realise a thing!

How ignorant am I? This is all getting to me.

The paint (Creme de la Rose, Crown), it's interesting.

Minutes

Tick... tock. Long, it does not end. When?
The seconds drag, scraping the sands,
My pencil, their paper. One hour.
Two hours.
We stand at the start, on our marks,
That is what we want, after all.
We are not together. We stand alone.
We are not we. I am I.

They said go, I think. It's blurry.
I don't understand, what? Read it, again.
And again. Answer it. Got it?
Go.
Go. Keeping going. There is not time.
Don't stop. Don't think. Don't feel.
There is a scheme. One to follow. Think like them.
We want our marks. We need our marks.

Five minutes left girls. What did they say? Only five.
Five more. Then its over. Just concentrate.
Differences between meiosis and mitosis.
You know this. Imagine the gloss, the smoothness.
Between your fingers. You feel it. You remember.
What were those stages? What does it matter.
Three more. Keep going.

I can't.

Feather

Light, like a petal,
But. You are not,
You fall, falling, from the wing, the chest,
the body, of another. Who is the other,
Never will I know
It is not for me to know.
Another tale, another story. Life. It moves.
It flows. Like water, like a river.

One day, do I wonder, will I meet the life,
This other life.
I will not acknowledge,
I will not be acknowledged.
Ships, in the darkness, sailing smoothly,
They are oblivious.

What do people see,
The early morning Starbucks,
Maybe a Costa, whatever the mood is,
whatever is closest.
The quickest, the fastest, the easiest option.
Does the scent of the red reach you?
Most likely not, I know.

The feather is soft.
We all know.
Why bother.
A bird tweets. It tweets somewhere.
Where?

It doesn't matter.