Creative Writing

After Mark

Softly calling dreams of stardom

Draw me down

Can’t get up anymore

When I was young I was absent

And now there’s no time left, spent

The lessons were expensive

What do I have to show for it

Put on a show for you – i’m a fool

Guess I should learn the rules

just like school

The sky is smokey tonight, yellowed moon

Leers above the scattered and glamorous stars

Wonder where you are

Mythologies of what I could have been

Blend, drift aimlessly into dreams


Always this outside feeling

Never learned to invite myself in

Never wanted to bluff or assume

My reliance on your kindness

Glowering, a wound

On the bridge I saw a boy

Sunbathing shirtless contemplating the water

His body was gleaming white

Like the shine on blackberries

Nestled in thorns

I stripped my clothes, hoping he would spy on me

The water was so cold

But dressing, the friction of the hot damp grass rubbed my skin


Nothing, he was gone

Blow jobs and joints, for a little company

He should pay so I punish him by hurting his pride

I feel so empty inside

When I get it, I get no satisfaction

Wrong direction, at least it’s a little action


That old french movie and us sniggering down the hall

School again, so young then

Don’t waste your time

Convince myself I didn’t waste mine

Taste wine, cigarettes, drugs, bill em’

I want some

Something I can hold on to

When i’m happy I don’t write

Not a writer

But else else can I do or be,

to break to fall of my mortality?

I wanted people to know me

No understanding of myself in intimacy


Gave too freely what others charge dearly

Now at least he pays for it

Mental rent to the room we screw in

It sucks but it’s better that nothing

I’ll just say that one look on your face

Meant more to me than all the nights I lay

Tricked up and spaced 

I close my eyes and hope we get together again someday

Let me into your home again

Oh the sun, the son and I desire him

But he was not absolutely ready to serve me

I had the strength at least to walk away

I know there is hope

But it lies in future days

Still like to see you again

Biding my time, I’m good at the long game

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About Author

Saskia Ramsden

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November 2021
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The University of East Anglia’s official student newspaper. Concrete is in print and online.

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