She’s sat there with her hair waving towards the grit between the kitchen tiles.
Her £15 manicure tapping against the marbled worktop.
She says she sees UFOs in the marbled pattern and watches him speak; with passion; about the flat earth.
What she really sees is the faces of ghouls that visit her dreams.
She is his.
She has dirt under her nails and they both know it,
and she wants to not care and she is his.
The grey is starting to fall beside her mouth and she wants to not care. But she is his.
As he speaks about making her the best breakfast ever
The green for her red blemishes has failed to blend into her blush.
There is nothing in the fridge,
and he wants to care but she is his.
The morning puffiness beneath her eyes has grown because he loves it and she is his.
She has tried sleeping less so it can look – puffier – she has tried sleeping more so it can look – puffier – she has tried to sleep restlessly so it can look – puffier.
Her winning result is: restless. Because he looks at her and she is his.
And he will see me sat there and he will love me.
my dreams in no particular order:
– my man in blue.
– the hole in my back.
– the skin graft I perform on myself – from my clit to my chin.
– the empty box of Chinese that I would like to fill with my vomit, to see i am made of something. and I am rejecting some things. and I can decide what I need. and what I do not. is that you?
– the wet sock merging with my skin.
– the context: my sister had a dream of giving motivational speeches on beaches. I counter-dreamed. I saw a green monster shitting on every beach she gave a speech. a fight she didn’t know we had.
– the fireflies dying and the horrible feeling of seeing city lights instead.
– the one where your eyes droop towards the dirt.
– the possibility of me being not-all-there.
– the yellows I touch turn grey. or milk coloured. depends on my mood.
– the old boxy tv saying ‘I told you so’ while drinking fizzy orange juice. it doesn’t scare me that a tv would drink juice.
– the new plane I will never attain unless I kill myself. (I’m sorry you had to read that)
– salman rushdie hugging me. this definitely is a bad dream.
– the people missing me. and having ‘the people’ in my vocabulary.
– the missing poster.
– the reward (or just the beginning) of a complete end.
now that the list has been put forward to you all, you may tell me what is a good dream and what is a bad dream. I dream so much that I don’t sleep. I am tired, so very tired. please tell me what is good and what is bad. I would do it myself but I need to get some shut eye. I know it may seem like an optional task but I would like to emphasise that it is necessary and important. I need rest.