Drown me
Chaining like a motherfucker
-Stress
My immediate response
To life’s
Sobering, ruthless
Disappearance, was a
Chinese takeaway.
Offered up in front of
The TV gods, on a mattress,
On the bedroom floor
Of the lamenter.
Awkward.
Days later, I
Unsuccessfully marked
My own transience
With a personal attempt.
I now live
In the knowledge
That next time,
I’ll have try harder
To please the passing.
There is such a thing called
Karma.
-April 2010, Death of a loved one’s loved one.
Oh look at you all, standing there with your expensive cameras, hanging there soaked in pretense, off the shoulder like an appendix- useless and invalid. Ostentatiously chattering banal remarks about your new found respect for being ‘off the cut’, at the fringes of respected society.
Don’t you see, you all make up the centre of your own constructed exile. The way you all speak about being ‘different’ makes you all intrinsic to your community. You pose for comfort, eager to belong, but your road is blocked. You cannot escape the confines of what you have created.
Free yourself, not from difference- but do not be afraid to look outside the box, looking back in. Re-create your paradox- remould it into something truly imaginative. That way your difference will be treated with deference and not looked at with contempt. I say contempt because currently the derivatives of your efforts are contrived. You look for regularity in difference. Don’t! Scream yourself to the world. Stop whispering. I’m not suggesting a wardrobe change, (for I too have fallen into the vintage obsession), but a change in ideology. Redeem your creativity back to yourself.
Exhale. Leave an imprint. Don’t lose yourself.
Disorder your mind
For lucid skies expand at
Speeds we can’t achieve
To be wholly stoic;
What
A Lonely place
That would be.
To never feel catharsis,
Or employ empathy.
A tenebrous life
Wrought with desolation.
-On Being Alone
Hidden behind oblique statements where
Questions reroute their purpose; their intentions
Lost. Callously shedding discrepancies to
The inner voice pounding:
‘Become what they want child,
Become what they want.’
If thoughts were relayed as were
Truly conceived in the mind,
She would be naked and
Stones would be cast.
We are all trained to lie.
I am not who I used to be.
