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We wonder if this is how we tangled in our mother's womb: hands to feet to heart.
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I peeled his tongue, word by contemptuous word, until he had nothing left but a scrappy shred of muscle flapping in his empty head...
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15923514
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We were destined by chemistry and plastic figurines to give it a go.
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Every time I squished an ant with my finger, I felt a piece of me loosen and chisel off.
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Somewhere amongst the jagged greenery of Auchterarder lies a bottle of my childhood. It hides intact, leaves rotting beneath. Maybe shrews have scrabbled its narrowed neck and birds pecked its silver lid, hoping for the tender fruits inside.There must be alcohol now. I…
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