The smokes of melancholy
The smokes of melancholyWire-whipped, fleshy maypole. A corset’s vicious ribbons, her strangling cords. Hockney’s orthodontics circling black-strapped and The cool, appraising glance. I inspect her in the mirror like a bad painting, but he’s always the background, flickering in and out of shot. The rich veil stars less kindly than this. Gloopy Artex nipples our walls. The paper shade bobs into a goblet, weary, lined and wan. I could drink a whole moon.
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose leaves
The way I feel today - 10 July 2004
Just seventeen - 17 March 2004
Roads to freedom - 25 February 2004
Confessions of a failed self-harmer - 25 February 2004
Manchester, united - 25 February 2004