My eyes are bloodshot from being busy.

The evening in bed with red lipstick and Opera, looking insane, feeling hollow.

I had chicken and vegetable soup and a cup of tea. The house is empty and my mind is ticking, ticking.

I want a cream volvo, with flowers lining the back window. I want it to get so hot in summer, that our heads hang out the rusty windows as we tempt fate.

I wish I could remember what I liked but I like nothing and nothing likes me.

She ate rose petals, because they tasted like her soul, bitter.

It's overcast and there is a chill in the air. I haven't done anything today. In a minute or three, I'll hang the washing. There are blackbirds in the tree and I know, whatever I do, will hurt you.

I woke up not long ago. Made toast with lashings of butter and some jam. The pot of tea brewing. I have decided one step at a time, so let's start with breakfast.

I can't do this. darn.

So perhaps I'll get skinny, start running, eat melba toast, watch the stars a little less, read a little more. Connect, because sometimes I wake up and I am not there.

. I am vague and vacant. I forget things because there is no point in remembering them. That's my excuse.

The night will linger in your mind. I guess you always were a night owl. you and your scowl.

I feel old and useless.

Job applications, staying in bed, tea,lack of sun exposure, evenings outdoors, hope, lack of hope,sleepless nights, five cents on the floor, $2.50 coffee, hidden cigarettes, wilting flowers and all things melancholy.

There are little bits of sunlight on your face that catch my attention. you are sunlight.

Penniless by day, sleepless at night.