Issue #10

Kept in Cupboards

Oh god it’s crept in kept in cupboards so I’ve sketched in whole holes of icky better just feet up or face up defeat or deflate it grab it and bag it don't let it get too

Stabbing shot cools kinda tingles my innards lizards slither down drain pipes unease all my udders make me shudder make me hopping hot better get got gone carry on just keep sip sip sipping slipping cinders in slippers sloshing cider insider her till she’s dizzy as a sailor

Gulping races roar red faces spew out gut loads gurgle garble jig jag jumble grab and grind go mental wealth is spent and hands are left unhelpful

Swathed swaddled bathed brushed up like a babe then beaten down and battered blue quick touch up make up touch down nervous breakdown clang and clatter splat a lipstick smacker on a passing stranger

Glamour lost in puddles of glitter a neck-it necklace guzzled down like dinner by a tramp damp gutter that the morning won’t remember

Her bender’s all been bent since savouring the moment won’t help save her soul it’s trapped in jam jars stuck down like gum to soggy bars waiting to be licked up mopped up or drench some lady’s leaning over dress like an overture of messiness.

Oh god the light ignites it night is drizzled out by speckles of enlightened spit spots sunlight seems to dampen darken cast a glistening haze that can’t outshine the lasers but it’s learned to ripen tighten the senses lurching you back into focus.

Heave up the guilt and swallow down the day.

Soon sedated hatred shifts. Surfaces. Unsobered thoughts find feet, forget to be forgotten. Carry you around in murky mists you can’t learn to undull.

Cold clammed clouded crowded headspace claws for motives. Strains for purpose. Jig jag jumbled jargon grabs and gropes and fumbles but you're far too sober to see.

Luckily it’s kept in cupboards so let’s let it creep in sketch in whole holes of icky twist up tangents wet whistle our wits let it let us see unstraight again as we flood gate full the world with thick and stinking seas

until it’s all too giddy to stand.

Helen Monks

© 2014