All good things come to an end. There’s a time limit on it all.

I’ve broken hearts and I’ve had my heart broken. There’s been no right or wrong either time. There’s some good, some bad.
I just wonder where the worth we once had for one another sits by the end of it all. Usually it’s six feet under.

Sell your body or sell yourself. The problem is people are going to come up short either way.
In trying to embrace the moment I realised all I saw was the rise of Only Fan’s and the fall of democracy.

I just want it to stop, you know? I want it all to stop; the aching pain, the overwhelming hopelessness. I want to feel something that isn’t a suicidal urge. I want the nightmare to end, yet I know tomorrow’s not going to break the cycle and neither will the day after. The endlessness terrifies me.

The trauma’s just won’t let up.
I think I’m going to die soon.
I can’t do this anymore, each and every avenue is crumbling.
I’m watching the city come tumbling down upon me.
Frankly if this is drowning then I want something a little less kinky during my autopsy.

The amount of people I’ve lost this year is astronomical. All these people, those faces, their thoughtfulness, their pain, their life. What did it all mean?
We went to gigs, we sat and joked, smoking the cigarettes you rolled / we talked intimately of our pain, we talked till the new day was unfurling.

I’m sick of loss, but I know there’s no end in sight. I’m sure someone else will be gone soon enough, then they’ll be yet another fading face.
I’m terrified for the future.

If I die in the next few days, please know I lived in yet another age of nothing, but witnessed the death of everything. I have my regrets but that’s for the suicide note. Whatever’s left isn’t worth shit.

I’m in the mood for eating ass and drowning some old dreams.

If reality’s written by guerrilla warfare and stocks then I dread to think what it’s going to be like when the nu-revolution invades wall street with sticks and stones.

I just swallowed some cyanide and washed it down with vodka to make the pain worse.
I’m aching for attention in all it’s terrible glory.
You said you wanted to play with yourself on the phone to me. I don’t think I ever called you back. My bad.

If over-sexualisation’s the way we’re going, then it seems I’m already there. Watching the flag being raised, and the monuments erected to this new ideology.
Is it really more than a dirty mind, or is it just a libido out of control? Ah so many questions, so much to process, so little time.

Caitlin got her tattoo, alongside a paranoia for the ages. If the needle went one way, then Caitlin watched her heart sink to the depths of the other way.
Admire her swagger, because that hat and those pants, could have a stylist swooning.

The funeral’s over, now lets undo the tie and grab a flat white. Let the dead rot. They meant nothing to me anyway.

When you watch a girl break up a year long relationship with her boyfriend, you’ve got to ask;
“mate if you’d just worn the cock ring all this would have been evaded”

Bring the car around and pass me the sunglasses because there’s an ex stalking my instagram stories, she’s been doing it for months now, sharing it to and fro. It’s quite funny. I would say she’s bitter and misguided, but she can be the executioner of her own self assassinations.

Niggling suspicions will set the shared pain alight.
Debauchery is the voyeur of many relationships. So let’s bury all the rotting corpses and hope no one sees anymore endings.
This life never gets any easier. I’m sure yours doesn’t either.

photograph of the beautiful Emily Green by me