My life is a swirling, disorienting mess. I hate myself. I’m wounded from the past like the rest of you. Coming to terms with the moment isn’t getting any easier. I’m yearning for death. The morality of continued existence poses itself as a defeatist conundrum. Sure you could have it all, but sooner or later […]Read more "My reputation precedes me"
Reality stagnates and fractures, the guts of humanity pour onto the cobbles we sway down. Now here I am staggering down some decrepit streets. Bleeding profusely and trying to make sense of what it means to be loathed in the moment. You can exchange as many words as you want, but it seems no matter […]Read more "Abused bodies and dead bloody poets"
I read a Guardian article not so long ago that branded us the ‘Stitled Generation’ it was a definition that to so many others meant nothing; yet for me, hit me like a cinderblock. With the title still swirling around in my head now. And ironically, I’m meant to be the guy, who doesn’t believe […]Read more "Escaping soullessness"
i’m currently in boxers and a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up. My friends are asleep on the couch. the cauldron is empty. halloween was a mess. I’m typing these words on my phone: from binge watching the second season of Stranger things (fairly decent sophomore season) to bumping into girls in short black dresses […]Read more "life’s not cool"
I’m listening to King Krule’s The Ooz (Released today). It’s a masterpiece. Now I’m back to familiar territory romanticising past experiences, thinking about the lost love. The ones who’ve moved on and figured their lives out. This year I met and fell for a girl from Spain. It was a strange, inexplicable romance, that felt […]Read more "Eyes red and raw"
Familiar respite; Reading Keats, listening to Morrissey, drowned in sadness. Scribbling away in a battered notebook of poems about love and loss: poems you’ve read and poems you haven’t. You told me you pictured our future. Just weeks ago, blissful as ever. Now you claim just friendship. By last night you’d called me a twat. I’ve […]Read more "Poem: We’ll hug (for the times)"
Long day, long week, long month, long three months. Not much point in keeping count. Internal confliction is a rather terrible thing to feel, we are taught to stick to our beliefs and never feel anything else. You want to experiment with the same-sex, oh no don’t do that, that’s wrong. You really should. You […]Read more "I’m pretty sure I love you because you make me feel less cynical"
There is no wonderment. Only statistics. Enforced damnation. There is no escape. There is no amalgamation. Just beliefs. So separate. They become one maddening idea. That sometimes escalates into something. So much more. And. So much worse. It’s dangerous. And. Beyond contempt.Read more "Poem: Spleen sale"