Scatter

Boxes thud onto the yard.
My arms still burn
but I go back for the clothes,
the books, the stacks of CDs.
Lungs gasping for the cold wind
on the other side of the back door.
Folders spill their pages.
Magazines flap and curl.
Ship in bottle and clay cat shatter,
cups smash,
and piles scattered
with photos, cards, magnets, key rings.
Flames will lick the air
and in a moment I’ll be gone.

...................

Winter Haiku

Sharp air bites my cheeks
Ground crunches under footsteps
Trees are black and bare.

. . . . . . .

Ignition

My life changed for good with that BMW. It was a little black convertible parked self-consciously on a less than secure street. Shining silver wheels and smooth bright paintwork, reflections from the streetlamp creeping across it. Beautiful. I wanted to see it up in flames.

It was Joel who showed me how to do it, screwdriver in the lock, duck inside like you’re meant to be there, alarm disabled, out with the wire strippers and we’re off. Took me three minutes forty six, not bad for a first try.

And I shot off down the street just like that, without a glance, car growling vibrations through me and I felt more alive than ever. I wound down the roof and enjoyed the wind, the freshness, the crescent moon smiling at me. And the car was as amazing on the inside as it looked from outside, smooth wooden steering wheel, clean leather seats, that expensive smell. Just me and the car and the promise of fire.

Best of all, nobody was there to stop me. People I passed barely looked at me, like they accepted it was my car. It was night of course, I’m not stupid and it’s always much better in the dark. More atmosphere, feels riskier, flames look brighter. Fewer people about, obviously.

I drove around for ages, right out into the countryside where I prowled along winding empty roads, ground lighting up in front of me, stars overhead, going too fast and not caring. I came across this empty field and decided I should finish it there. I got out to open the gate and saw the glow of the city in the distance.

At the top of the field I opened up the petrol can, still not knowing whether to love or hate the smell. I dipped the tip of a rag into it and splattered it all over the seats. Then the lighter. I clicked the rag into life, held it for a moment as the tiny fire nipped my fingers, tossed it in a golden arc and blaow! Flames everywhere! The best thing on earth.

I sat on the grass and watched my flames curling and flicking and flashing. This huge bright patch of light that outshone the moon and the stars and the city and everything else. I watched right to the end when all there was left was a charred black skeleton. And from that point on I was hooked. I was out two weeks later doing the same with a Jag.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Escape

Start again.
Leave home.
Leave everything. Everyone
Leave their lies and views and expectations
The memories that lurk in the darkness.
The f***k-ups and regrets,
screaming from every angle.
Become someone else. Anyone
Never, ever admit
that the only thing you want to escape from
is the only thing you can never leave behind.

........................

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