You Can Have Vanilla Coke, It’s The Apocalypse

These eyes they
fall inside me.
I am my
legs ‘top knees.
Tall as a flowerbed cactus,
I’ve been possessing myself
into walking, into getting through

crows, peoples, hums.
I hate it, love you.
I’m weak today, for no reason.
In my windpipe, coffee and shoelaces;
couldn’t get them undone
so just as I started
turning inside
out, I let us leave our cell. Followed you
my floor pattern, that
of a ’20s pilot, so distant.
Barely listened to the goldenboi:
how it tore

its knees round
every curve.
I’m screaming under
my breath. a shower. plug
my face, cock back
a limb, do the thunder-lightning
count on the bruises –
you know so
I can see
how far I
get away. Leaving my body:

to get it working again. Coming back

About the author

Poetry burst from Emma Simington during her childhood. She writes to cope, and to love.

Photo by Jordan Bauer on Unsplash.