Another Graceless Night

I wake
Like a slug
Festering between sweaty sheets
Reaching for water
To revitalise the dead garden in my head.
I receive a glass, a lukewarm well
Of thickened liquid that tastes like old.

My legs struggle out of my sheets,
And I rise. My spine a rusty bike chain,
My head as secure on my neck as
The Leaning Tower.
I rise. And apologise

To myself,
My unmade bed, my unwashed clothes.
And I forgive.

Over and over and over.

Each Time

I haven’t posted anything in a while–overscrupulous essay requirements and procrastination have taken their toll.¬†And it’s horrible. So apologies for my long absence. Here is a poem I wrote, undoubtedly quite a personal poem, but I’ve chosen to post it because it’s not common that I restrict myself to an ABAB rhyme scheme, so it’s something quite different from usual. Probably, if only subliminal, inspired rhythmically by “The Song of Wandering Aengus” by W.B. Yeats.

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“The Bad Beginning”

Or as Daniel Handler as Lemony Snicket would put it.

I can only find such a title fitting for my first post – which, undoubtedly, will differ to those of months to come – for, by then I can imagine I’ll have found my groove in this sort of thing.

Self-deprecation aside, this post is simply a quick welcome to what will be the new home of my most literary thoughts and jottings of creative writing. Primarily because having this sort of outlet will prevent me from trying to fit said thoughts into a 140 character tweet that most of my followers cease to care about or instead might put to rest my tapping away tirelessly at the notes on my phone trying to get the right phrase, only to dump it there for months until I stumble upon it again at 3AM sometime when I decide to stalk the past.

So here we are. Genesis. Inception. Birth.

I’ve ran out of synonyms for ‘beginning’.