Limb

Moonlight creeps under the curtain and casts shadows on the wall of this room. Not light, but its echo. The air is thin and cold but I keep the window open anyway. I press my fingers up against the glass and watch the condensation push out from them. Tiny haloes of heat, and then they… Continue reading Limb

A Study in the Art of Revolution II

When I was five, Dean B?? bullied me for my freckles. It?s my first memory of primary school. I was self-conscious about the way my skin looked for years afterwards. The comments didn?t stop as I got older, either. I remember being 13 and walking out of Middle Brighton train station in summer in a… Continue reading A Study in the Art of Revolution II

An eddy and the undertow

I have perfected the art of the 24-hour lament. If you can call it a lament. An expulsion. Catharsis. A moment of reflection before the purge. I let you into my body momentarily, now I am pushing you out again. Before that: I found precisely eleven post-it notes in my copy of Virginia Woolf?s To… Continue reading An eddy and the undertow