I await the polysemic sky for summer is no longer my favourite season
“with freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?” -
oscar wilde
The overwhelming sense of wanting to occupy myself is tainted with ideas of rest and relaxation which is tainted with a sense of laziness. The things I want to learn and do; read that classics book, remember why you loved the cosmological argument so much when you were sixteen, what really is your favourite piece of art and name it, talk about it like your first love, write about the artists and poets you love, write that story about uni kids and accidental homicide, these things have taken a back seat and what sits in front, is boredom.
is this what it’ is like to live and die at the same time. I have an exploding feeling at my very centre, edging for me to jump from the window and glide with birds of prey like the wind pushing you gently when walking in heavy gales, the small push of a mother guiding her shy child to the other children to play with, that sort of nudge, a small tinge of excitement, the same sensation I sometimes feel at my feet because I’m on too high a dose of medication, like dipping my toes into a pool of needles, the slight scratch of realising you’re no longer a child. meds and health and other words were once seen only in a biology textbook or film frames screenshot on tumblr with low contrast and saturation are now a part of my unbalanced vernacular. I am the hold tone. I am the repetitive tune at the other end of the phone line, desperately waiting for a human voice to tell me everything will be alright.
The skin creates moisture that plants soak up to reproduce the song our lungs love to hum
do you miss the country?
The apathy that grows with my hair follicles and falls from me like expired skin makes me needy
A paint tin has fallen across the sky yet winter’s curtain still hasn’t fallen within me
(#3BB9FF)
the freedom of walking around london next to midnight is something i’ll never forget i wrote a poem when i got home, i promised you i would make it back in time, but there is a part of me that wishes i stayed outside that night it was a comforting emptiness. no people no transport. i was alone with buildings and bus stops. the lampposts, the shutters on corner shops, each fingerprint stained on the glass covered map of bus routes that touch the edge of the centre, those were my new year accompanies into the new decade instead i ran home, only gazing for a moment at the empty city appearing like a mirror before me
I await the polysemic sky for summer is no longer my favourite season
by candice daphne