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I awake with the wall in my face,
I poke out my tongue to see how it tastes – it tastes real,
like damp and wallpaper paste.

I feel alone,
each breath that I take lasts forever.

Forever I wait for…

Your breath on my skin,

the creak of the door,

the turn of a catch as you let yourself in… but nothing comes.

My thoughts drift to space latently, life escaping me,
the unslumbering, numb and vulnerable, naked me;
slave to complacency.

Inertia has me rooted, too unmoved to move, useless.

I’m on one side of my bed, awake, waiting patiently,
if you ever need a space to take, great…
there’s a vacancy.


Photograph by Leeroy

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Lucas Howard

When I was seven I started copying poems out of a book and telling people they were mine. When I ran out of good ones to copy, I had to start writing my own. I have been performing and organising nights on the UK spoken word scene now for over seven years and am most of the way through writing the first draft of my first novel 'Zedlist', which is serialised on here. As the story is in fetal form, any critiques or suggestions are most welcome.

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