D Em D Em Control


Your hair runs like brown waterfalls over your shoulders and I’m nervous.  I’m taught that brown water is poisonous.  It needs special pills in the bottle to make sure it’s safe to drink.  But now, I look into deep brown eyes and deep brown tentacles gathering around your shoulders.  I don’t know what to think.  I just know I don’t want to listen to the adults.  I need a drink.

There’s just too much that time cannot erase.  I stand on a pointless lump of mud, staring across to dim cloud shapes.  You’ve long since gone but I search for you everywhere.  Not in the obvious places; Facebook, Twitter, Social Media.  I look for you in the shadows of trees.  I look for your footprints in mud, even though I don’t know what shoes you wear anymore.  I bend down and investigate every bent blade of grass.  I don’t need to.  I have to.

I wish I could forget everything.  Your lips were always chapped.  You smelled like out-of-date milk and sweat.  Your armpits were damp as your crotch.  Your feet stank, and when you removed your socks the stench could melt paint off your ceiling.

And yet, I shook hands with your pet cactus.  I reclined, a slimy erect penis aloft, on your white rug.  I looked out of the windows and saw nothing, and nothing looked back.  Now, nothing recognises me, and all I wish is that I’d made more effort to see what looked back at me.

Author: jimmicampkin

Writer and photographer (and occasional other things) currently living in the North East of England. Everything is my own unless otherwise stated. So blame me.

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