Cheese

Ted opened his eyes, stretched his legs in front of him and waited for her to come.

Everyday around one o'clock he would hear J's voice calling to him.

'Okay, time for lunch. Did you have a good night?'

Ted would yawn and blink his eyes in agreement. Too sleepy to try and say much more to J. For him, it felt like the middle of the night but he didn't complain. He liked J coming to him. Caressing his fragile body. Holding his feet in her hands. He liked the kisses and her gentle commentary. It made him feel special. Loved. More than he was.

And he was more to J. Much more. He was her life. She would take a bullet for him. She would do anything to make Ted happy and keep him well.

So every lunch time she prepared his food. Chopped up the little bits and pieces and dropped it in a bowl. She would sing to herself as she did. Content. Warm inside. She liked to care for him. It made her feel special too.

She flicked the locks to Ted's room and put the food on the floor. Ted moved to meet her hand. Sniffed out the yellow lumps in the bowl. J put her fingers on his head as he began to chew enthusiastically. The same as every day. J smiled watching him.

Ted loved J so much that he could never let her know that hamsters don't like cheese.

Hungry

I looked at my plate. She had left it out for me. I had spent most of the night walking in the rain.

My shoes were wet. Squeaking. I liked the sound and ground my toes on the rubber. Made my feet laugh.

I had stood outside the front door waiting for her to let me in. There was no doorbell. No knocker. She had sensed I was there. I heard her soft, bare feet coming down the grimy carpet to the hallway.

We no longer needed to switch on the lights. We have done this all before. It is a fine, exhausting dance of two empty people rattling through the early hours.

I walked in darkness to the plate. To the dining room table with the silent radio and pile of lists. I wondered what it would be like to eat in the light. In the daytime. When the rest of the world was awake. I wondered what it was like to eat at all.

I sat there for half an hour. Drying out. Nodding my head towards the food. I thought it polite. One last shred of my humanity to sit and look at what she'd given me.

When I thought she was no longer listening I stood and left the food untouched. Left my belly as empty as my head. I sat on the floor near her bed and waited for morning.

Tattoo

Wes hunched over my ankle inking in the blues and blacks of the butterfly.

At first my leg flew away from his hands with every bite of the needle.

Adrenaline he said.

After a while each small puncture was like a soft kiss. Soothing, beautiful.

Wes's spare hand relaxed its hold and he carefully wiped up the spill of colours with a paper towel.

As the butterfly filled I felt warmer inside than ever before.

Key

The key is already there.

It's the door you have to find.

Poetry

Words gather like flies around my lips
Drawn to the cold,
Puffed away by the reluctant warmth.
Still driving, pushing.

To write.
To be on paper
Is to live
To breathe
To be.