spittlerattle

stuff i write

Month: January, 2015

Psych sketch 22.01.2015

I poured myself a large glass of wine
And started talking to myself.
I rehearsed the best lines I’d learned from my self-love manuals –
Like The Joy of Me, The Tao of I –
Stacked on my shelves.
I smiled and looked me in the eye,
Diverting my focus
With sleight of sly
Hocus pocus.
I fell
For the hard sell.
And flattery.
Naturally.
I might appear attractive
In the right light
Or proof.
My moves could be devastating with the right groove.
This, look, I have perfected:
The personality traits I have corrected.
Obliquing the truth.

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The walk to and from therapy

The morning is filled with cuckoo spit and loosed, bloody feathers. Grey air is clogging my lungs and a thin, oily residue of shame seperates me from living things, once again. Need to shake it off before it crusts over.

Relation-ship-sinking-drowning-waving-goodbye went the psychobabble stream of association as I plunge and glug bubbles. Panic stations.  Sucked in by emotional hyberbole and, if I’m not mistaken, a true feeling. It’s hard to be certain. But. There’s something hurting.

But at my age something usually is.

Bones creak in the cold fog and my boots are sodden. Rotting wood, tangled tape, fungus, fumes,magpies chattering. I suck the nicotine and strychnine in like vitamins, then turn the ignition.

On a mission. Engage.