Found In Phone Notes by HLR


Found In Phone Notes


09:23 The last time I met Emily Dickinson in my dreams we had coffee and ice cream, and I taught her how to fake sanity, and we had tea and cake, and she taught me how to behave.


04:46 Stared into my own eyes from the outside for the first time in a long time. Misty moonlight reflection in the windowpane. A face lino-printed on glass. She looks old. Exhausted. She’s got those wild, wild eyes. Traumatised. Who the fuck are you? I said. She didn’t reply. Her face crumpled in on itself.


18:50 I don’t need to explain to you why I reacted the way that I did when you came up behind me and dug your fingers in my ribs. I don’t want to anyway; even if I have to, I won’t: My trauma bores me. I am sick of repeating sad stories.


10:26 Drowning in a sea / that I don’t remember diving into / found myself / once again / in dire straits / too far away / and sinking / slowly / I can see nothing / and sinking / quickly / nothing but your face / and sinking / deadweight / it seems that all of my memories / have been erased by the waves / except the ones / of you


02:57 There are only 2 ways to stop us sending each other drunk text messages: 1) Quit drinking, or 2) Drink together. And I’m not going back to rehab.


18:43 He always says, “Don’t be sad baby,” as if it’s that easy. I don’t like being told what to do. The stubborn child in me wakes up when confronted with authority. I’ll do the opposite, just to spite you. Maybe if he said to me, “Don’t be happy, baby,” I would try desperately hard to be.



HLR


HLR is a twenty-something writer of CNF short prose and poetry. Her work focuses on challenging subjects such as mental illness, grief, and addiction. Her work has featured in Ariadne’s Thread, The Gravity of the Thing, Em Dash, streetcake and Dear Damsels, and is forthcoming in The Hellebore Review and In Parentheses. Perpetually on the verge of either a breakdown or a breakthrough (sometimes both), HLR was born and raised in north London and is yet to escape. You can read more at www.treacleheart.com and @treacleheartx.

Recent Posts

See All

These Days by Jeannie Prinsen

These days the sun's in hiding. Morning drapes open to darkness. Later, when I walk, flakes spin grey against white sky. Beyond this snow-globe bubble fires burn, bombs drop. I look behind at my footp

The Colour Of Tea by Amlanjyoti Goswami

The Colour of Tea I once made tea in the forest With twigs and dry leaves. It came out yellow As if the fallen leaves had something to do with it. The colour of tea is usually blue, Like the colour of

The Way Things Are by Elodie Rose Barnes

The Way Things Are It begins after the unpacking has ended; the gathering-together of crumbs for bread, enough for a loaf, enough to say to this new place - we belong. We save some. Hoard them in litt

 © 2020 Dust Poetry Magazine

The copyright to all contents of this site is held either by Dust Poetry Magazine or by the individual poets and artists. None of the material may be used elsewhere without written permission. For reprint enquiries, please contact dustpoetrymagazine@gmail.com