the paper filter

residue of my consciousness

Month: March, 2009


she’s stressing out.
at every instant she’s contemplating ripping every strand of hair from her head….
every heartbeat thunders against her ribcage like an ape in captivity just from the mere thought of it drawing closer and closer.


that one place of sanity,
that one sanctuary…
the single thing that seperates the good and bad days…
that will be gone too.

she will have to do without.
she has no choice but to push on through.

and in her fluster, a thunderstorm of thoughts howl about her
as her friends dance on the outside, the better side…
and she continues on in the rain.


i think God can explain

a joke.
a fucking joke.
that’s all this mother fucking was.

she toweled her hair haphazardly.
her gums were sore from brushing her teeth so hard.

yeah well, i was lost in my stupid thoughts.
so fucking clever of me to go running in the rain because i can’t contain my bloody emotions.
i wouldn’t have had to shower if i didn’t go traipsing in the fucking rain.
and i wouldn’t have had to brush my teeth yet.

she ran her tongue along and back the back of her teeth

at least they feel really clean.

she sighed, and plunged headfirst into her bed.
amazed at what a shower could do.
she did not feel the slightest urge to talk to him.
she sighed again as her thoughts started to wander to the prior events of the day.

it was day that started no different than any other.
she went to school and sat in class, albeit absentmindedly.
it was just another day, the same as any other.
well, maybe except that my sister is probably at home writing another letter to her dead boyfriend.
in her head she saw her sister hunched over the table, writing furiously, on a balcony overlooking the streets below, a lit cigarette in her free hand.
her heart stopped every so often when her sister came to mind.

got to push on.

but then it all went horribly wrong.
all because of a phone call.

she was asking too much of him.
she didn’t realise it.
but she couldn’t not understand something.
she was there for him at his lowest.
she needed him now.
maybe that was too much.
was it too selfish of her to ask for a bit more?
she couldn’t do this alone.

because she couldn’t be alone.
but she didn’t want to be around people either.

she hadn’t known what to do.
she had sat where she sat
and did not move an inch
even though it had started to rain.
she had just wanted to stop time.
she imagined that the droplets of water, were hovering in midair
and the splatters in the middle of their explosions of those that hit the floor.


the rain had carried on about her
and washed away the tears on her face.
and she had sat there until she felt better,
not thinking of anything in particular
with her mind finally blank.

so here she was hours later
face-down in bed, her head tilted to the side.
she caught herself staring absently at the phone
and felt a pull in her belly.


she closed her eyes, biting her lip, holding back a sob.
her throat choked up and her eyes fluttered open again
and she laid there watching her phone.

dear sister

dear sister,
what do i tell you now?
i usually have all the answers
but this time i am unprepared.
i have no answers.
i have no advice.
forgive me for that?

usually, a mere hug,
a hand holding onto yours,
would seem sufficient in giving comfort.
but today it is all i have to offer.
and it feels inadequate.
words cannot undo the physicality
and sequence of the events that took place.

all i can tell you is to carry on as you are.
one day at a time.
be that patience that he could not have.
until your heart is better.

he is not gone.
he remains in your closet;
the checkered shirts and the cardigan you once threw out.
in your music;
every song will remind you of him.
in your favourite foods;
you will recall every time you’ve had it with him.
every cigarette you’ve smoked and shared.
every place you’ve been together.
any thing he has touched.
any thing that remains.

these are why memories remain.
this is the reason for the existence of memories.
you can look at them whenever you want to.
you can spend as much time on each one as you want.
when they’re too much to handle,
take a step back and take a break.
catch your breath.
remember to breathe.

do not be afraid of them.
conquer your memories.
conquer your thoughts.
and you will be the victor.

do not be afraid to wear that checkered shirt.
do not be afraid to listen to that song.
do not be afraid to remember his touch.
because these things keep him close to you.
these things keep him alive in you.
he is not gone.

We Are Rockstars.

Her heart is pounding in the cage of her ribs, beating like a drum.
She’s tearing her way through the streets, her eyes burning a pathway through the crowds and the piercing cold slaps against her cheeks.
You can feel the waves of fury emanating from her like a radiator in winter,
and only one word goes through her mind with every stomp of her stride.
fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Fucking, FUCKING, FUCKING, fuck.
She keeps on going,
not stopping to apologize to anyone who bumps into her or stands in her way.
She doesn’t have time for this shit.
A woman yelps and raises her voice in alarm as she turns a sharp left and makes for the darkened alleyway.

She stops. her breath is harsh and quick. she looks at her watch to check the time.
1:01 am.
A minute late. There is still time for a cigarette; a formidable ally in her battle with the bitter cold
She sits on the concrete boulder and pulls her arms closer to her, settling.
Her hands shake as they reach into the inner pocket of her coat and she fumbles to bring the merciful stick to her lips, desperate for a drag.
Her fingers grapple with the lighter.
Give me the fucking fire.

A flame bursts before her illuminating her face as she stumbles back in shock.
She gains her composure, realising whom the flame belonged to. she glares at him, unblinking against the cold, as she accepts his flame’s warmth.
She inhales deeply, the nicotine rushes through her, filling her lungs and nulling the ache in her head she hadn’t realised was there.
He smiles, watching the change in the lines of her face with the intake of elixir. Her eyes never waver from his and glows a glint of red, reflecting the cherry of her cigarette.

“You’re welcome,” he smirks.
Her eyes squint in a scowl and she begrudgingly mumbles her thanks.
“You’re late, too.” his voice hints a question but her silence echoes through the alleyway.
She takes another drag and he sighs inwardly, moving to lean his back against the damp wall.
His eyes never leave hers.
They stand in silence for a long moment.
She’s watching him critically with her unwavering, untrusting gaze.
He’s enjoying every second of it, savouring every slight and subtle movement of her eyebrows and the corners of her lips as her mind wanders, wondering about him. He can see the unasked questions in her eyes as they watch him.
It all just seems slightly perverted.
She’s almost done with her cigarette when he backs off of the wall and takes a step toward her.
The spell is broken.
She springs up in alarm flicking her butt to the side, awaiting his move, ready to fight or flee.

He frowns, seeing her unease; irritation bubbles at the bottom of his belly, pooling.
“What? Have I done something to offend you, or something?
Because you’re being quite rude. You’ve not said anything at all, and just been glaring at me with your pretty eyes this whole time.”

Her eyes fill with mirth and they play on her lips. Her voice cracks, raw and scratchy against the silence.
“It’s only been five minutes.”
The smirk returns.
“Really? Looking into your eyes seemed like forever.”
“You really are quite the git, you know.”
“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you show me?”
She rolls her eyes and her arm twitches as she restrains herself from smacking the back of his head.
“Well for starters, you could have stopped staring at me like a dirty old man.”
“You could have asked me to stop, but you liked the attention too much.”
“There’s only one thing I willingly like about you, and even that, I have to pay for.”
He feels a pull in his belly. A blow to the ego. He has no more rebuttals.
“How much, then?”
She pulls out a roll of bills from between her breasts and holds it up to him.
“5oo quid”
He pulls from his pocket, Death in a little bag.
For a split second guilt wraps itself around his gut and he grips Death for just a little longer, reluctant to pass it on.
He holds his breath and lets go of the little magical bag, exchanging Death for the wad of funny paper.
He sees the calm in her eyes dissipate and the manic overtake.
She walks away and turns one final time, nodding her farewell.
He promises himself that she’s the last one.