O Death.

No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold.

Nothing satisfies me but your soul...

I dreamt that I once found myself. It was just a lie. And slowly, the past crept up behind me. When it catches up, it will drag me, kicking and screaming, to a dark place I once forgot.

Hello, hello. I am Cheryl. I don't have a life anymore because I work two jobs and I'm too tired to do anything else anymore. Goodbye internet life, you were so beautiful. I have also noticed that my temper is very short and I know it's very nasty so it's best that I don't lose it. My new job is fine, but hot. Very hot. And right now my wrist is all red and sore and hurty because my Reading 09 wristband has caused some sort of horribleness on my skin but I don't want to take it off.

I'm also planning on getting my tattoo this summer, if I can decide on where it's going to be. I'm not sure if I should have it on my wrist or not. Hmm. I need to decide soon.

I am tired again. Sleep is needed.

Goodnight life-I-do-not-have.

au revoir.

She packed her bags and said goodbye to the grey room. There's been so many memories this year. Embarrassment, fun and even the darker days.

The nights she sat and cried until she had no more tears left. The evenings she spent with friends, drinking and laughing and feeling so glad to be alive. The afternoons spent bored, hunched over sketch pads and keyboards. The mornings spent huddled under the sheets, forgetting who and where she was.

The lonely times where she couldn't remember what time it was.

She's packed her bags and is ready to go. Ready to leave this place for another and start again for a new year. This room was her everything, her life, her home.

And there'll soon be no trace of her ever being here, except the wine stains on the carpet.

5.55am

What do you think about when there's too many things locked up inside your head?

I think about sad things.

Because sometimes, the sad things are what I only seem to remember.

taste

When do you start feeling old? I feel young, childish and stupid. I'm out. And in a drunken haze I scour the floor - try to feel confident, quite the big man. And I sit and stare and as the seconds tick by, the painful loneliness begins to claw its way in. Odd one out again, perfect. Everyone else is in pairs and here I sit feeling quite along, cradling my drink as if it's the only friend I have in the world. I sit and search, someone to connect with - someone to feel, to sink my nails into. Someone who might care. And the vodka doesn't seem to do the desired effect, it doesn't make me edgy or straight - it blurs me and I slump and wonder what the fuck I'm even doing here. And I'm pulled along, outside where the air is clouded and cold and it feels amazing. I light up and sigh, trying to get my head on straight. Think, just think. Just...

And then I see her, smaller than me - lip piercing shining and I just stare. The vodka abandons me and I look at my friends, pleading for help. I can't do this. I'm too drunk and too shy and I can't do anything right. I stare at her again, she has dark hair. It's hidden by a hat. She's cute. I like her. I look to my friends again and they help me out. She seems cautious. I shake my head, trying to convince her. There's no catches, please please - just one taste. No catch at all. I'm just shy and hoping for a fix - a simple thing. How do you taste?

And she tastes... delicious.

Amanda, you tasted delicious.

freezing you to the bone.

My brain is full of too many things. If I could grab a tap and lodge it into my skull and turn it on - so many things would all come pouring out. Dirty little secrets I've kept for so long, moments I long to forget; so many pretty pretty words.

But so many other things would all come tumbling out. I'd lose so many things. My talents and dreams and all would come spilling out of my brain tap and spash down my nose, down my clothes and drip drip drip onto the floor. Lost forever.

Perhaps I'd be better off just keeping my brain too full. At least no one may accuse me of being empty-headed.

Lady Gaga Does Not Cure My Insomnia.

Hello there random pill,
How did you slip out?
I took you and your brothers in my purse
Out on the drink
With achy aches and pains
Burbling away in my stomach.

I guess the packet was kinda shit.
I did get you on the cheap
From a magical place called Superdrug
For Reading Festival, last year.

And now you hold mantle
On my gloriously dirty keyboard
Beside F6.
Oh, what a lovely place to be!

It’s 8am and sleep was abandoned long ago.
Because it’s not working.
And now I sit with the curtains open
And in my dressing gown, glare at the sky.
This is fucking shit, pill.

Cough cough.
Did I catch the lurgy off that girl I snogged?
Maybe. Well – I hope not.
Cos that would be pretty gay.

Lady Gaga won’t help me out.
What a whore, right?
Perhaps I should try some more wine.
No, no wait - that won’t help me.
Because I was drunk and now I’m sober.
Oh well, I guess there’ll be no hangover in the afternoon.

So, little pill - what should I do?
Stalk to corridor in tights?
Knaw my arm off?
Lick my elbow?
Fuck this, I’m bored.
Good morning, little pill!