6 May 2003
Silent crime

Silent crime

Walking down the road, too quickly, trying to get back to him. Watching myself from outside. I haven’t done this for years, this last-minute decision to go out alone and get drunk, braving icy winds in the hope of friendship, warmth, whisky searing on its way down. It’s the wrong Ria in these clothes, Sloane, accompanied by the smart staccato rap of high heels on Park End Street. The thought of choice kills.

Remembering Gurdeep in this pub, downing a double like I’m in some fucking Western. He reminds me that it wasn’t our finest night.

The first mouthful of whisky and coke sends senses exploding into joy. It’s all so wrong.

Dusty * Fresh

---

But to what purpose
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