I want to clean the greyish flowers bowing out of the vase.
Mop them clean and paint them white.
I want to take a deep breath and not hear myself wheeze.
I want my room to have a theme.
The books should find a reader.
The sofa shouldn’t creak. I’ve been quiet throughout the day.
I want to re-write all the prayers and see in God a friend.
I could watch TV all day.
Fill up my head with voices and beings.
I want to train my biceps.
I want to live in a pocket.
I don’t know if the guard is awake.
I don’t know if he brought his woollens.
My curtains are dirty. I keep them drawn.
My photos of childhood are yellow and blue.
I like my tea black, put ginger in it.
The lemon is so silent. The honey is so sweet.
Papaya in sickness. Papaya in health.
Have I earned my Bournville yet?