Sketchbook extracts 2021-2023

I am drunk on the indulgence of self loathing, time won’t change me as much as a bottle to the face will. Reconstruct me from the neck up

I am made of soft wet clay, take me in your big strong hands and craft me a pretty face, please leave the eyes out the two holes under my brow, I don’t want to look at myself ever again.

I want to bleed out, dramatic and lonely, sad for the sake of it. I don’t want effort I want honesty. I miss the version of you I had; I don’t know you now. I dip under the water, holding on a little more. Romanticise my own struggle and your sickness, let myself feel bad as I forget who I am. I am swimming in the warm water, I am happy in the back of my mind.

Oh, I say, I was doing I was doing it all with you, how funny of me to forget. How childish of me to contort myself into an island, to feel the saltiness of untrod ground on my lips.

I beg to be brilliant, my hands move stained with seeping colour, my mind more trained, worked up. An expectation of greatness is freezing me to the faded painted stained sofa. Did they doubt too? Wonder if that burning need was enough, if the images that flash under my eyes are enough. Probably, I figure, and I turn the kettle on.