#5: Trying to Shoot, but Missing the Pull. (An inebriated post).

So, this week has housed death. Death and sadness and silent screams for theses poorly people. People touch your lives, there’s no escaping, no harmonies that can cover the under-night whispers and moans at three when the tea trolley’s late.

(SIDE NOTE: This entire blog post was written in a blurry 5am smog, I was very very high so…be forgiving. Thought it was funny)

You like order? Knowing when each breath is planned to come.

But, you can still breathe – you think you can’t, you think you’re done but you are only just noticing. Harmonies are here to keep you snug. Mum, I think you need something more than a hot water bottle, I want hope and I want so many little bites of things that it scares me.

Starting again is a terrifying concept. A terrifying word, a terrifying phrase. Us musicians feel like God and then we feel like scum. Oh, how we adore the highs and lows of the music industry,

But, you can still breathe – you think you can’t, but YOU can.

Feeling scares me. Because feelings can be these beautiful, surreptitious things. OR they can be sneaky, little daggers. In my family, you never truly know which side is the winning one. I hope Nutella helps, I hope nuttiness tastes better than abandonment.

Maybe we were never meant
for kisses on foreheads,
for kisses at all.
We tried to breathe when
everybody else ran out of oxygen.
But being that selfless – it speaks volumes
of a shattered pelvis and
a leatherette bracelet with ‘Be Mine’
engraved on the circles around the clasp.

They kiss, they kiss and it makes my loneliness palpable. Because
surely the vows made on a
particular Wednesday are meant to
mean something.

Am I even meant to mean anything? Hand it in,
hand in the justice model
and go back home,
feel the fabric of discontent itching at your elbows.Let’s rely on primal urges, right? Because surely nothing else makes sense, besides denial. Besides the crackles whilst a vinyl warms up,
the density of sexual think tanks.
I want palms around me, the only ones who knew me. I just need something
OKay, you can come round – but I need some blank green to let me forget about how I am diseased from birth.



Frankly I have zero idea what’s even happening with my brain, I just know I’m in a great deal of pain with seemingly no reprieves or answers. I just spend the weeks trying to wriggle my way out of reality.

Honestly, if anybody has any advice I would be so grateful. TTFN.

The piano speaks louder than I ever could.

Published by lvpape

I am a sleepy writer who loves to write poetry and short fiction. I also freelance as a music and medical journalist. I’m currently working on my first novel and it’s my baby. Besides writing I sing, play the uke, guitar and saxophone and love performing both my writing and singing. I am a major horror film buff and love reviewing them. “I exist as I am, that is enough” - Walt Whitman.

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