Lieing in bed after writing a draft of a poem on ageing. All I want to do is write. Poems and prose and plays that tell stories. All types of stories about mad girls with pale white thighs, tales of lovers and dreamers. I want to tell you of violence beyond your darkest fear. Then let you see the garden where a boy loves a girl for their first time taking her fear with her lust.
I want the bedbugs to bite and to say no to soft mattresses. Lay me down on the grey concrete of a deserted graveyards.most of all I want to use the words


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