In general I think I'm doing quite fine

Cold, cold enamel on my neck and my knees shiver in the window somebody left open and I'm too short to close. I've sat here so long my legs are doll legs, flimsy on their pins and my doll fingers fidget with the clasps and hooks and snapping plastic. Pull it all off me and try and ignore the headache before I realise I have one. It's 6am. Roll up, roll up and see the great pretender. Live another day as Miss Smith who is as cynical as she appears because the world is predictable. She has lived it all before in her head and she ticks off your replies as you give them. Follows the narrative through to the end, making allowances for free will and twists. I want no eyes upon me but one, two, fall for me and talk, talk, debate and discuss and consider my most favourite subject: me. But not the me in my little head. Oh no, too real, too silly. I want lies, rumours, misconceptions and lies because it gives me something to focus on. If I don't look and I don't touch I can soar out of my bones. It's divine and addictive and

I want a throwaway love and a cast-off life. Second-hand dreams and affections reminiscent of those films I love. Quote and remind. Preserve and plagiarise. I'm steady for now but the right word will tumble me down. Too many people living too loud and throw out tendrils to pull me into some new farce and every two years the world revolves and repeats itself. Just a star bright and I want to spit ash on obnoxious faces. I want to disappoint. My finger holds no hope of a ring and my belly just longs to be flat. I have no plans but a mouthful of whisky and a masterpiece under my fingertips. Just give me a little time. I think sometimes of borrowed time and I wonder, eschatological verification. A row of published work and a4 pads of paper I must compete. 13 smiths on the shelf and sometimes I feel so bound by my gender. Two tits and a pussy somehow qualifies me to a standard, somehow makes me fair game. A target to stick a dart in. Claimed, marked, punctured and maybe I need that. Maybe I want that but I can only picture it in the quietest moments and it's always

I'm feeling a little claustrophobic and as the sun shines a little brighter my headache shifts position away from my eyes. Careful now. You are never as great as you believe to be but you are rarely as awful as you suspect. Selling yourself short means your heart won't break and if you're heart won't break, the world can't end and you're not really living then are you?