The Doctor meets a poetry-writing maintenance drone, played by Phill Jupitus.
Servo: I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just want to…
Doctor: What, you just want to what?
Servo: It is.. a secret, you’ll be derisive.
Doctor: I won’t, I promise.
Servo: I.. I just want to write poetry.
I don’t understand how this audio can be horrifyingly grotesque one moment, and painfully adorable the next. Amazing robots.
I got up at five this morning and just finished writing all ten pages of my Enviro exam. My fingers are about to fall off.
If you woke up to find your body
made of unbaked clay,
which part would you resculpt first?
I’d start with the back of my mouth.
Teach my tongue not to cling to your name.
Remember when you were so small
you couldn’t climb one step
from the living room to the kitchen?
Some feelings never change.
I think we’re all a little bit
broken bones and blood magic,
splinters and hurricanes,
two galaxies trying so hard
to find each other
that we forget our collision
will kill us both
and all that we contain.
We push too much against the current,
won’t let the river wrap itself up in our
fish scales ‘cause we’re too busy
wishing on scales whose numbers
don’t ever make sense but
we keep coming back anyway
because it’s all we’ve got left.
My heart is made of mud.
It slips through my fingers
and leaves streaks behind.
Bootprints across the lineolium.
Pieces of the soles
and old leather and all those forests
we wandered through
with half-open eyes.
You pulled up hunks of clay
with your bare hands, and
it clung to your skin and
underneath your fingernails like blood.
We must have buried something
meant to stay in the open.
We must have left in the open
pieces of ourselves
that should have been buried.
Reasons to cry at midnight include ‘I still haven’t started my Enviro exam yet’ and ‘the way Ten hugs Sarah Jane at the end of School Reunion.’
I just nope’d so hard that I took another nap. This is my third nap today and I still haven’t started my Enviro final. Someone send help.