kreecha

The corridor undressed itself of students and friends, this feeling could grind bones to filth that will wait in piles for days, I picked hairs from my winter coat and let violent headphones hack my ears, speaking a language I half understand, I woke up with the sun under my arms, then ate breakfast as normal ones do, this was my attempt to yank the life from carpet grooves. It's 4 am and I'm still awake making diary entries. People I know stand in queues, rubbing shoes into airport concrete. There are some problems you can leave behind. Three months ago we sat in halls, our backs against doors that would not open. We d

The earth was filling me up like bathtubs and small intestines, I licked my lips and wore a pretty dress but couldn't help but flinch at static electricity in my chest, it hung onto bones, splitting air-sacks and wrapping everything in blankets. I'm six years old again, up-rooting dandelions and not feeling sad, pulling out hair ties to flick at mirrors. I am good at maths and keeping my mouth shut. There is a man on TV eating a cake with his sticky fingers on table clothes, my mothers broken ankles set in plaster tell me -- she will not know I'm emptying bin bags once a day and hiding my nipples behind hands, as I loo