Jane L Trew: Inspiration Junkie

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INSPIRATION JUNKIE
Crouched, in the corner of my world- An audience trespass outside this pinpoint glass, balancing and peeping sight. Through condensation grime and a glimpse an Empty Room suffocating absence suggestive and grim. (those hiding walls are closing in) In the middle, a creature pale and fatigued stares at the air and waits... until it grinds inside too restless to decide. -If I pile up my ideas and climb this obscure tower I would reach space. Most probably fall, yet those lofty thoughts beckon- and as an addict I'm obliged to follow- the shadow moves in a gasp from a box, it lifts it up a thunderbolt that flashes in the dark caught by the light of the watching eye, it is my instrument that points me to my sky. It taps its arm and pulls it tight touches the push spot and sees it glide the lead of a gun, that shoots a tide- then all goes white. birds circle overhead as this indefinite shape prepares for its plight subheading to the newly wed- that tantalising taste for selfish bliss hanging on breathless until the very next hit. i'm an addict in a non-addictive world that lonely place of hit and miss.
JANE L. TREW

INSPIRATION JUNKIE

Crouched,
in the corner of my world-
An audience trespass outside
this pinpoint glass, balancing and peeping sight.
Through condensation grime and a glimpse
an Empty Room                      suffocating absence
                                                                suggestive and grim.

(those hiding walls are closing in)

In the middle,
a creature pale and fatigued
stares at the air

and waits...
until it grinds      inside

too restless to decide.

-If I pile up my ideas and climb
this        obscure                  tower
I would reach space.
Most probably fall,
yet those lofty thoughts
beckon-
and as an                    addict
I'm obliged to follow-

the shadow moves in a gasp
from a box, it lifts it up
a thunderbolt that flashes in the dark
caught by the light of the watching eye,
it is my instrument that points me to my sky.

It taps its arm and pulls it tight
touches the push spot and sees it glide
the lead of a gun, that shoots a tide-

then all goes white.

birds circle overhead
as this indefinite shape prepares for its plight
subheading to the newly wed-

that tantalising taste for selfish bliss
hanging on breathless until the very next hit.

i'm an addict in a non-addictive world

                                that lonely place of hit and miss.

JANE L. TREW

Jane L. Trew was born in London, 1974. She was brought up on the South Coast of England, lived in Portugal and travelled around the world. After graduating in English and European Literature in 1996, she taught literature in the South of France for two years. Heavily influenced by Margaret Atwood and Fyodor Dostoyevsky, her passion lies in the philosophical and in the blunt comprehension of reality.

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