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Letters from a stranger by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
Letters from a stranger
Dearest,
the Dawsons
put up a bird house near
the public bins,
gold finches have been
stealing breadcrumbs ever since.
Last tuesday the neighbours
upstairs, the doctors, you know
the ones; the flat that
smells like a corpse,
well they flooded the flat.
Frogs have moved in
and theres algae clawing
at the walls.
The ice cream truck doesn't
come down the road,
anymore,
not after
little Suzie climbed in
and went missing a month ago,
her body lay between
waters and strawberry sauce
in the Ruislip Lido, such a shame
Mum's brought hydrangeas,
pretty purple flowers,
she thinks they could brighten
the place up.
I think you'd like them
if it
on remembering words of wisdom from a drunken aunt by grew-up-a-screw-up, journal
on remembering words of wisdom from a drunken aunt
It was December and I’d been packaged and parcelled off to the city that never sleeps. My aunt and I talked a lot about cabbages and kings and how empires fall because man was too greedy. I was sprawled across a couch too small for my limbs, and I understood how goldilocks felt but then again maybe she should have just let her limbs hang off the edge instead and make it work. Anyway, my aunt had a glass of wine between her fingers, years of experience meant no matter how steep the incline of the glass, she’d never spill a drop. I lapped up the droplets from my wrist and her nose would wrinkle but the haze of drunkenness had settl
Another day late and one year older by grew-up-a-screw-up, journal
Another day late and one year older
Hey all
So i think i should start this off with a generic Happy New Year! ignore the fact that i am a couple of days late for the sake of my pride. So looking back on last year i realized i hadn't set any goals for myself because there'd been no point the future looked bleak and i really thought i wouldn't make it to 2014, i almost didn't. Last year, to put it bluntly was fucking horrible but i made it, and even if my, excuse me for lack of a better word "real life" was hell i found a reprieve in the people i’ve met on here and for that i am grateful. I really am. I’ve met some amazing people on here and you guys are amazing, lik
On reality and other fictitious things by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
On reality and other fictitious things
I chewed out a piece
Of the sky
Only to
Spit it back out, again.
Maybe I’d be better off
Licking clouds
From my fingers
Rather than
Wiping down your
Bed frame spine
And collapsing your easel
Joints like a puzzle.
I swallowed the
Rains sticky heat
Like a shot
And it burns
Just the same.
The tragedy of the mook and how it died one day by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
The tragedy of the mook and how it died one day
The fickle sky presses
Against the glass of the windows
And the dry strung up heat of the winter sun
Spilled over the anemic asphalt
Our shadows seared into the bottom of our sneakers
Moving with a sort of blithe nonchalance
Searching for the speckled grey of a familiar horizon
The apathetic footsteps and my clenched hands
Quiver beneath the setting sun’s bloody smear
Across the over populated sky
That was no longer clear
Rather it was the looking glass phenomena
Spread eagled across my retinas
And during those grief stricken days spent
Hanging off your rooftops and skylines
I've contemplated replacing
my heart with another
Live
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
Liquor is one way out an'death's the other
The art of growing up,
is to pour shots of whiskey
into your coffee in the morning
to make it through
the day.
when all you want to do
is lie in bed
instead,
but there’s nothing
beautiful
about that
either.
The older we get the better we used to be by grew-up-a-screw-up, literature
Literature
The older we get the better we used to be
All we ate that day were 3
Powdered donuts
To stifle the anxious shaking
Of our palms or
At least produce excuses for
The anxiety rustling beneath
Our scarred veins
Tell me
When did the diamonds
Leave your bones
And for how long have
You been expiring without them
Tell me
When did the construction
Of your false reality
Finally fall through
The fragile infrastructure
Of your factitious commentary
Lack the physical manifestation
Of your laboured breathing
Perhaps it's best if we ache
For magic and other childish things
Because the world hurts our eyes
And I don't want to see anymore
The skies are pressing against
Our glass houses an