Scribbles: The things you find in a forgotten notebook.
1
Tonight i write of city lights and passing cars. Of synthetic beings and humanoid digression. From some obscure window, safely out of reach, i watch in awed silence as my baby sleeps.
Tonight i write of things that were and came to be. Of faces, words spoken in between. Forgive me, but these streets have never felt like home.
Until i rolled under the blankets, and pressed my lips against your skin.
2
I like it here.
I like the floor i’m sitting on.
I like our clothes, bundled in an artistic heap beside me.
I like the cigarette between my fingers.
I like the shapes my shadow makes against the walls.
But most of all, i like the sound of your breathing; as it fights to drown reality.
I like it here.
3
Take them: The severed emotions, the lop-sided sanity, the odd bits and pieces of me. And throw them far, far away. Cz out my head, in a familiar place..
I live.
I breathe.
Safe from the clutches of her venom.
4
Halfway through our burgers and fries, he smiled; commented on how dark my eye colour was. And to which i quietly replied, “Its teak.”
Teak like the mismatched furniture in your house, on which i have sat on, curled into a ball and fell asleep on. Teak like the 8-year old rust eating away at your belt buckle, the very same one that snapped shut on my finger during a clumsy fumble of limbs.
And teak beacuse you, in resonating clarity, said so.
Teak.
5
Hygenic propaganda on a moving vehicle.
Clearance, but not if you’re more than 6ft tall.
A man climbing side-way steps with a can of beer in his hand.
The roaring machinery of a carrier truck.
Distant chatter while a woman passes.
Inaugural humming against the scathing sounds of pen on paper.
And all this while my train of thought passes. In the unlikeliest of places.
