Do you remember the faces
of all those abandoned buildings,
like a metaphor we wanted but could never touch?
& so how we turned to punk & the band that
turned to shit
because we fucked up by being too fucked up
on speed, weed, drink &
of the stage we were too afraid to admit?
I miss those days:
There’s a freedom in nihilism
so often forgotten or ignored;
nothing hurts those who believe in nothing
& care only for the comfort of pleasure.
The last man
cannot be turned back after walking the path
for too long.
That place was a contusion upon
the surface of the earth & we
were the worms
crawling in the dirt…
but at least we weren’t alone.
together we created a nostalgia
I can still feel,
& when our mistakes drift away
they will join the birds
who will sing for us instead.
Closed fists with
nothing in his hands but
the dirt under his nails.
He tries to restrain himself yet
the eyes betray. The eyes always betray.
Loneliness, fear, confusion, repression:
they decay & the rotten
fruit grows the mould of aggression.
All living things deserve sympathy
in one way or another
but we should not mistake this
It is September.
The apples will not stay ripe forever.
I’ve felt the soft surface of temporal fabric,
watched the world begin to fold
organic origami elide
rearing over what remained of
what was no longer me.
& sound waves of colour,
cold feathers began folding down,
nothing remained but space & light,
a deep divide
between body & mind,
quick flicker of panic
as all thought plunged into ice…
then it didn’t matter whether
I lived or died,
try to write
or if I