II. Ports .& Gall

II. Ports .& Gall

I. Loser
If there were times when I said goodbye and didn’t mean it then I apologize for the lack of interest in a sincerity so fine that could have otherwise calculated for the misconceptions about you and me and saved us a whole bunch of nights of fights and bickering and useless blowjobs that ended in messes over the sexy lingerie I was convinced would save us yet. There is so much bliss in making peace amidst the palatial mode of Guinness cans and cigarette butts but alas, my love, we cannot survive on sex alone there is more called connection like intuiting a move and admiring a brain that just says live and I will show you more for life but alas, my love, I am strifed and illed and pained that you are not it I will not submit to your vision of us as it is willed by demons and conceit my body for you moves like mechanical gyrations in the night; a cold metallic ballpoint pen scribing nothing in the halflight. Love, you inspire me no more and never did and my Britain will save you the embarrassment of trying any longer

II. Winner
To him, my world.

III. Won, Struck .& Taken
Queen & Pawn.
To you, my word.

IV. Manx
Pricing Orange Juice
Searching for tailless cats on the backs of postcards
full justification to a sister
about ruffians and the like.
Perfect personality, cheeky
tea at 4:00 p.m.
making sandwhich butties for the drunkards-lee.

V. Others

©sylvie hill

Marek Fijalkowski (Sacrum Profanum)