Ring Again, orbits collide fingers clasped, emphatic ride disturbed by which you never will remove and that destroys all sanctity we ever hold. ‘I cannot leave’, and yet you stay, each time apologetic as the last, decaying moment’s tryst, lust fractured, bound as art. What hangs us isn’t gold; unmake life’s possibility forever gone, potential she, not I beholds. London Saturday night, remains though ache’s malaise only created because life, somehow expired smoothly vacated, silver strands across our sin. Athena lied, persists wisdom lost, derides pointlessness of this when I cannot remove a lie from life; faulted, contained lies sleeping above he incapable of trust. This mettle cannot move, remains as proof.
S Reeson [she/they] is 54, bisexual and married with two children: they has suffered anxiety for all of their life, and started telling stories as a ten-year-old in order to help them cope. They write and record poetry, short stories and episodic fiction, plus dissect their unique creative processes using both video and audio as the means to continue coping.
A considerable lived experience of mental health issues, a passion for niche arts and media and an undimmed enthusiasm for environmentalism combine, to allow creativity to emerge, and new stories and projects to be created. They love to experiment, pushing creative boundaries and gain a huge amount of motivation and inspiration from talking about both the journey and their continued development as a creative.
When S is not in her second home online, they enjoy lifting heavy weights, learning how to run properly and static cycling in the meat space.