I rarely wake up early enough to feel the sun on the left side of my face.
It remains white and untouched while my right is freckled and worn.


Sometimes I just stare at my unmade bed as I wonder why I never dream.
Heat rises from the mattress making my fingers twitch.
I only make it so I wont want to get back in.


If I dressed for myself I would wear nothing.
People value first impressions.
Who knows what conversations I’ve missed.


Clouds are always docile in a blue sky.
It’s comforting to know things wont change.


The sun doesn’t know me well enough to hang around.
Restful day, fitful night.


Who can trust a man who looks unhappy with the food he makes.
Listlessly slapping it on a pan before he keeps it lukewarm for half a day.
I eat it all the same.


She wears beautiful things to hide her neck.
It’s an unhappy causeway to the rest of her body.
At least you have your mental health.


She’s happy because she’s beautiful.
But she’d hate me if she knew I was looking.


When I first saw it I thought it was the moon.
It’s a lot less perfect now but it’s the only picture of the moon I have.

I imagine diving into the harbour and swimming down as far as I can. Deeper and deeper into darkness. The pressure pushing hard against my skin and my lungs crumbling like paper bags. But I’d ignore them and keep going. Ever swimming trying to reach the receding ocean floor. Always swimming down surrounded by a thick nothing.
Bliss would come naturally.


Instead I keep watching people watch something else.
This man wished he was the smoke drifting from his lips.


Soon the smoke obscures our vision.
I can see why he likes it. No one can see you when you can’t see them.


The clock tower asked me my name.
I said I’d never tell.


The sign and the stairs are lovers that will never touch.
He bathes her in red light so she can feel alive.
Otherwise who knows, she may look elsewhere.

(Sydney)