Projects: 2017 / 2016 / 2014 / 2013 / 2012

Catriona Keith

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To write one hundred hopeful words every day for one hundred days


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It’s a long-forgotten feeling, teenage tainted, like angst and acne and period pains.

A shiny knife-edge in which you can see yourself distorted.

Fingers hovering near an electric socket

That last drink that should have stayed in the bottle. Screw the cap on tight.

Hyper-vigilance over a cup of tea.

Combing through words he throws away, searching for meaning.

It’s called a crush because it’s not comfortable, because it’s too much.

There’s no room to breathe.

Like a crowd mangling the railings trampling on flesh and bone.

Trying to escape.

 

Crush


No. That'd be telling.