Nicotine stained fingers grip this pen as the nib slips across this page. My brain needs to rest before reloading for another day, another level of the game and yet it shows no sign of logging off. I’ve spent far too much time throughout today yawning and craving sleep and now the opportunity presents itself and I do not want to dream. I do not want to close my eyes, embrace the night, or even turn out the light.
I want your rapture at my earlobe. your being stealing by breathe. I want you fulfilling my emptiness . . .
I found this in my notebook. I don’t remember writing it and to be honest I am quite surprised at ‘I want your rapture at my earlobe’. It must have been silly o’clock in the morning or something . . .