Yours Is a Familiar Face But That Don't Make Your Place Safe In My Bed...

Well right now I should be writing this from my new house... But as fate has it i'm stuck in my old flat, getting ready for a night of cleaning.... Long story. 

Anyway, as I was packing my stuff I got bored and started taking pictures. The pictures aren't particularly good and my clothes aren't particularly interesting but looking through them reminded me of one of my all time favourite poems by one of my favourite poets Anne Sexton...

'The Ballad of The Lonely Masturbator' by Anne Sexton

The end of the affair is always death.   

She’s my workshop. Slippery eye,   

out of the tribe of myself my breath   

finds you gone. I horrify

those who stand by. I am fed.   

At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Finger to finger, now she’s mine.   

She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.   

I beat her like a bell. I recline

in the bower where you used to mount her.   

You borrowed me on the flowered spread.   

At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Take for instance this night, my love,   

that every single couple puts together   

with a joint overturning, beneath, above,   

the abundant two on sponge and feather,   

kneeling and pushing, head to head.   

At night alone, I marry the bed.

I break out of my body this way,   

an annoying miracle. Could I   

put the dream market on display?   

I am spread out. I crucify.

My little plum is what you said.   

At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Then my black-eyed rival came.

The lady of water, rising on the beach,   

a piano at her fingertips, shame   

on her lips and a flute’s speech.

And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.   

At night, alone, I marry the bed.

She took you the way a woman takes   

a bargain dress off the rack

and I broke the way a stone breaks.

I give back your books and fishing tack.   

Today’s paper says that you are wed.   

At night, alone, I marry the bed.

The boys and girls are one tonight.

They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.   

They take off shoes. They turn off the light.   

The glimmering creatures are full of lies.

They are eating each other. They are overfed.   

At night, alone, I marry the bed.

Such a great poet. I recommend looking her up if you're not familiar with her work.

Toodles to you bitches xx

P.s. Smoking is bad!!

(P.p.s. Title = lyrics from 'In My Bed' by Amy Winehouse)