Shes desperately clinging to me (her technicolour
rattle). She never outgrew the need for a pair of arms to
cradle her. Shell never let that security of a blanket
slip away . . . Not yet anyway. Its just talking and
making fun of us with the others, with your mind blotted
like ink spilled on white paper. And draped over me like
some kind of fallen curtain running your nails up and
down my back in front of everyone . . . no not in front
of everyone. Not here. Not now. You make me feel so
awkward. And tomorrow youre going to pretend that you
don't remember saying unconvincing things to me, begging
me to come out. I can't believe you were on your knees in
front of the car and crying out. Listen, could you do a
favour for me, without actually mentioning my name? Your
reply was No I just think its who ever is there at the
time. Why is it always the wrong time? I cant believe how
you let yourself down.