losing our grip on purpose

By Devon Webb

My duvet is on the floor
& I haven’t emptied my rubbish bin
there’s dust on the shelves & hair on the carpet
& crumbs between my sheets
what I mean is I’m a mess
& I’m embarrassed by my own lack of composure but
I curl into the thought of you anyway
cos it takes me away from this
box of a room which howls all through the night
my heart a wind tunnel & you
blowing into me & out the other side
leaving me shaken &
displacing the cobwebs from the roof
maybe when you are here we’re not here at all
but in our own projection of paradise
where everything is air & light
a bright fracture in my dusty claustrophobia
a perfect stillness in my cluttered mind.

Devon Webb (she/her) is a writer & editor based in Aotearoa New Zealand. Her award-winning work has been published extensively worldwide & revolves around themes of femininity, vulnerability, anti-capitalism & neurodivergence. She is a staff writer for Erato Magazine & Pulp Lit Mag, an editor for Prismatica Press, & a founding member of The Circus, a collective prioritising radical inclusivity within the indie lit scene. She can be found on social media.