Steve Leadbeater


Writing

Season of the stick

With just an outline of you my eyes are emersed in sweet decadence. / They politely ask for relief — I deny the request. / It’s not every day I drift into this blissful pink haze.

THE SILENT CAMPAIGN

In the howling wind, a crowd gathers. / With no idea of what’s about to happen, I join them. / We move slowly, without sound, into the white. / One thing I understand; after tonight – nothing wil…

Black turns to blue

Deep in the night / after weeks of solitude / black turns to blue.

Deafened by choice...

Deafened by choice / I disappear again. / Gotta be at work now anyway. / Back in the car – morning sun on my face / cold air hits my lungs. More sparks than ever in my head (possibilities).

Waiting for you

So familiar, the heavy exhale. / I nervously swallow the last of my thickened saliva. / My eyes lose their focus as the cloud recedes into shadow. / Colour has surrendered, only shades remain.

Becoming what I hate.

My numbness had long since suffocated me, / it slowly saturated my body without resistance. / Unstoppable, like ink spreading through water. / It was exactly what I asked for.

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