and now our blog has gone a bit wonky. Thanks, hackers. Next time, try NASA. Gary McKinnon seems to have got away with it…
I push in the cigarette lighter. I like the red ring that lights up around it. I like the click it makes when its ready.
I lick my lips, bite my nails. I change songs. The lighter clicks, stops glowing. I push it in again.
My battery will survive. Ill go back soon. Before…
Girl meets razorblade meets boy…
We have some super exciting news! We are proud to announce that The Green Press has published it’s latest novel, First Aid Kit Girl by first-time author, Lynsey Rose. You can buy it here, and it will be on Amazon very shortly.
The book is a black comedy, a story about oppression, hope and self-harm. Read Lynsey’s Next big thing interview to find out more about what the novel is about. You can also like First Aid Kit Girl on Facebook.
But, you know, literary sex. Intellectual. By Lee Webber.
In vogue, with sodomite gait and a wink,
I kiss your grave and mouth your name, and then
imagine Savoy tables, amber drinks,
my buttocks tight like all your suppered men!
Just charm me Wilde. Im done with being coy.
I want a cigarette case made of gold.
I’ll let you feast on me, I’ll be your boy,
let scandal, infamy, pure love unfold!
Now lipstick covers you, your pigment shroud,
I hope you know the wonder that you give,
a homemade epitaph spells it out loud,
says here lies the best man who ever lived.
I’ll leave you, cursing Victorian luck,
I’d sell my soul for one Wildean fuck.
Another unsatisfying sex session with Miss Lynsey Rose.
I knew it would be the end if we did it.
I imagined how it would be.
I pictured it like a bad film
The door slamming behind you
Me throwing myself on the crumpled bed
I even knew what I’d think:
I compiled a play-list of music to sob to
All the hard stuff,
From weepy as hell
to unbridled anger.
I was really going to
I was really looking forward to it.
As it was
It didn’t work out like that.
We did it on the couch
It took us 15 minutes to get home
So time was against us.
Plus the conversation about
Shall we/ shan’t we?
took a few minutes more.
But we basically already had.
It wasn’t ideal
I wasn’t wearing my seamless knickers,
Or my decent skirt.
the first thing you said was,
We must never do that again.
You looked shell-shocked.
And we couldn’t find the condom-wrapper
I had to drive us back to work
And guilty songs came on the radio
One you knew
And one I knew.
I tried to keep your head together
When I just wanted to
Sellotape my own mind up.
This wasn’t how I planned it.
Back in the office
Emailing about the aftermath
Knowing it would
never happen again
I wished for one more chance
To fuck up in style.