poems

Sunday best

I pace

Throwing windows open

Moonwalking across rooms

Playing a jarring melancholy that hums along the floors

Staring back at my dry aesthetic

Ripping through cloth to find the right lie

Thrust in steam and scent

Molested with intoxication in older shades

Mona Lisa painting now

And then I pause

My feet forget how to pace

Standing high, jewelled

Breathing in the obscure lyric

Imagining a simulation

Where everything is the same

Except for me

And it looks so much better now

Quieter how

This is probably what Van Gogh’s left ear felt like

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a daisy's life, poems etc.

Help desk 

She receives with an encouraging hello

But is drained on the other side

Her sweet voice welcomes questions

But mean rolls in her eyes

She worked her hours in a cold basement

The screen glaring with complaints

And every scroll took away

The smile from her once radiant face

Her voice was calm despite your shouts

Menacing she could be too

But bound by the contractual duty

She promises never to leave you

The help desk was her and some coffee in cheap cups

Late hours and infinite pages

You’re one minute were her thousands

But she was there despite her wages

Her job was commitment

And she was the ideal spouse

For while marriage was unfair

She never let herself howl