Distorted Monologue

By Georgia Bowan

I might be convulsing, a rotter at heart.

Something inside me takes hold, now and then I cling to what I know and my relatives and their violent escape from a regime hell-bent on destruction. I think about this often, a core apple seed in the white noise of my existence.

Future discussions might be hazy? Hazy, hazy.

I can’t do it, it’s your turn. Can’t extend a limb to be swooped up or violently shat on by a small marsupial. I felt a shift and I knew what had happened. But I knew what it was! It was, is, and that’s what this is. The knowing and the shift or coinciding.

They sleep together, they break eachother.

Curt breaker, fool fool and foolish japer. If you don’t want me around, how will I make it up to you? I walked from my house to the oval all dressed in black, hair wild and covered in red poca dots on all bits of the skin. Spotted, dog on an ankle, plug in the forearm. The vulture sets in.

Nah, but I drank so much and I wouldn’t stop (won’t stop!) So, it is cultivated incorrectly. Leg over thigh, both of them are my own. Head in the ceiling fan, head in the ceiling fan.

Not even tired now, ready to be invigorated. Did you know?

I listened to this song on the bus to class, every 8:00 am class at 18. Ahh you had a grip on the wrist too soft, not so tight, tight enough to explain this foul behaviour. So I told myself, you have to find someone else.

Sleep with someone and contract heart diseases like the rest do. Get all naked, get your cock out.

Worst part?I thought about you more. I thought about the lack not the full.

Your hand on the thigh or throat of a woman, let it be throttled. I thought the only way to overcome it was to find a new piece. But the new was just reminders that it’s a thoughtless act without brain quality and bodily enchantment.

STILL, I’m awake and sick and sickened and you’re vacant, I think I sense why.

Hope she’s more than doe-eyed and a mad cunty lass furled with thought and knowledge. More airy and aspirational passions about it all (it all!)

I’m about to go to bed but I swear creatures leap door to door or wall to wall. They want to take the seeds and soil that is mine. Cackle, as you will, break it down. A fat girl walks across the beach nude and we’re all in awe, a baby’s bloated corpse rots in the pond, the future father, Jesus or Yaweh’s next coming is reading the ring frequency.

The ring frequency, a cunt hold of it all, sound in a ball you scoop and swallow and shit out yucky.

Nah, it’s normal. Walk it off softy, baby it’s all fine.