the landlord is giving u ur notice

clean it. clean the floor.
kings of leon and the bacon clubhouse double
medium meal
the faded ginger around the corners of popped eyes
sticking lemon in hot water
waiting for the change and crash
pills crushed on ur settee
radioactive meals, stolen shampoo
quiet evening, planet party, sunset comedown
worth it too
swallowed, sniffed a way to brain death
the damage like broken glass around the bed

still though, there’s some oxygen in ur lungs
and a box of chicken wings next to ur new eyeshadow palette.

crying in the elevator

mike why’d you have to go n do this to me?
15 minutes into my life and i was staring my mother out

but she won.

and it’s not like it’s some kind of competition but
the capacity to make a man’s eyes water
as he holds his hooch from across the bar

is absolutely delicious.

mike i’m crying in the elevator
with a pizza crust sat like a sad smile
in the bottom of my stomach.

mike i told you
humans are the biggest oxymoron in existence
which makes us amazing

but such a pain in the arse.

i don’t like winning anymore
and so men who settle the score with me
i adore,

cos my heart was decapitated from a head of kisses
that many fucks ago an ex gave me
and he told me, he told me,

you’re amazing, lymh

and he calls me baby and hands me cake like dummies
for i am sickly
and cannot quite manage hangovers as i could 3 weeks ago

i drink to remember what it felt like kissing jäger off his dirty t-shirt
and i drink to remember what a lovely curse i’ve been given
that sucking cocks just isn’t fun anymore

and that i hate the sound of my own voice in seminars

15 minutes into my life mike

my ex was holding my hair behind my neck
wet from the rain
saying

marry me, you shit

what kind of a man drinks hooch
and what kind of a man proposes after a 2am argument as i vomit,
howling tears to the moon?

i dunno mike.

but i’m still crying in this elevator cos of you.

i think about you everyday

i think about you everyday
i think about you when the sun’s on my face
and my friends are laughing about something i said when i was drunk
and i think about you when mura masa’s on radio 1
i think about you when i’m head banging in sankeys
i think about you with my 3 am subway
i think about you when i’m crossing the road
look at my swollen body
it has loved you on sunday afternoons when the sun burns my forehead
and it has loved you on sunday afternoons when the rain soaks me to my veins
i think about you everyday
i think about the raise of you
and the pull,  the pull of you
and the push the push of you
the strings on my date’s guitar
i tiptoe in his bathroom and see you stood behind me in the mirror
i feel your breath on my neck when i sleep
your air has never changed
all of you was a tornado
i am not the same,
and i think about you everyday.

it’s funny cos you’re sleeping with him

pain’s a slip of the tongue
passing fancy,
or you find it sometimes in your pockets by accident

your room fills up with smoke
so does your head
you remember conceiving a can of worms on that bed

and he opened it with one final thrust.
you think spring comes alive
whenever you open your eyes.

and in a room full of mirrors you are back
with a baggy of mandy
and scrannin’ whatever you can.

you’re not one colour.
you steal everybody’s cigarettes.
you put your dolly to bed.

you say you hate yourself,
but you don’t really.
you’re a lovely purple on Sundays

and you think you’re a princess of rainbows.
how happy.
how comforting.

and it’s funny when you stare at your ceiling all night
as he paces the floor 10 minutes down the road in his bedroom
anticipating his next wank

he whips it out and bleeds thoughts of you from his pipe.
he begins to wipe away the mess
from his sweaty face.

that he put his heart into you
and you laid waste
to a winter he loved centuries ago.

//

you were my new year’s resolution.
i would’ve put you in my lungs
and continued to cough you out.

your fingers dripping with a lemon smile
and it’s worthwhile
to note we’ve all carefully sucked God’s balls

at our most vulnerable.
but you’re a trick of the light.
an unreal scent.

and i just think it’s funny how we’re all sleeping together in bed.
i think it’s funny how much my nails have grown
so i can scrape your dirty face from my memory.

and how many times i’ve seen your face in Deansgate
sat with a cheeseburger
as you try to inconspicuously rub your fanny.

is it itchy?
or is it just what you do when you see me,
the memory you get paying for a special mistake pill over the counter?

does it hurt?
did you find anything in your pockets,
or see a passing fancy?

did you love him better than i ever could?