Miserable Cunt

If I have to be so fucking morose and dysfunctional at the moment, then I may as well leak some writing out. Until such time as I become less of a miserable cunt.

I entitle this piece ‘A Collection of Emo Bullshit Scribbled Down Whilst Laying in Sorry-for-Self Heap on Sofa Between 7.15 and 7.25 pm on a Sunday Night’.

(It should be shown directly before the seminal work ‘Thoughts I Tried to Cheer Myself Up With Before Resorting to a Therapeutic Wank’)

(please note, in many regards this is also a therapeutic wank...)




Loneliness stings; the drop drop drop of lemon juice into the paper cut in my soul.



I orbit society; just me in my pod.
Sometimes -
I think I’m making contact!
It’s not just me; my pod; the universe!

But the signals fool me.
Just random noise after all.




When my gaze alights on my love, some rogue magician turns my heart into bunch of flowers, bobbing right there in my chest. But he is not mine. And no sooner do the flowers bloom than they wither and choke my heart, and rot my soul. Tears seep silently from my whole being. But I smile. I stand. I sing.




I am trying to hold myself together. I am gathering a flock of birds in my arms. I puff and swipe. But they big-bang forth in every direction.



My skin is too small for me. They gave me the size too small. I don’t fit. Can’t breathe. I need to break through, but it gives and smothers like latex. If I could just cut here. And a little here. And here. Here and here. Aaahhh - a deep red breath.



How will I mate? What for, these blushing petals and dimpled bud? But tethered to my stem...
I will puff my pollen into the ether until it reaches you. I will scribble; hosing my spore onto cyberspace. You will intersect.