afterlife in a glass of orange juice
a pierce at the centre of my chest
i thought the sounds of the world are not that amazing
and i grew tired of my own reflection on my mobile phone screen
i was an itch that would never go away
the ghost in your grandmother’s picture
and all the while you stay still
soaked in your bathtub
rubadubdub
i like stories
ending with somebody drowning
and smelling good