Rec
š¬
My mind is made of bubbles
Synapses pop here and there
Take me in different directions
Through alleyways and down steep stairs
My emotions come and go like the mornings
receding tide
Shift like piss swift dribbling down drainage pipes and play-place slides
My words are drool upon your feet
My eyes are hung like frozen coals
Or snot that freezes and puddles
In jacket arms, on brand new clothes
The mirror is a needle but these ropes are all the same
I built my house on a rock in sands so that I can be displaced by strange rogue waves
Sometimes screaming doesnāt help
Today I canāt talk at all
Self harm gets only a couple chuckles when friends come round to call
My loves tears taste like cinnamon
I canāt swallow without spitting up
Ones once loved donāt talk to me because my medicine makes me less fun
I cry every other night over folks I chose to hang around
My room is set on fire every time I say something and donāt like how it sounds
Good grief, bang the drum all day
Dec 29, 2024
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šāFull is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my loveā
āI donāt want a home, Iād ruin that, Home is where my habits have a habitat.ā
āāmember when I was so sick and you didnāt believe me? Then you got sick too and guess who took care of you? You hated that, didnāt you, didnāt you?ā
āI ran out of white doves feathers, to soak up the hot piss that comes from your mouth every time you address meā
āIām a tulip in a cup, I stand no chance of growing up, Iāve made my peace Iām dead Iām done, I watched you live to have my fun,ā
I could go on and on but these are just some that came to mind
āI donāt want a home, Iād ruin that, Home is where my habits have a habitat.ā
āāmember when I was so sick and you didnāt believe me? Then you got sick too and guess who took care of you? You hated that, didnāt you, didnāt you?ā
āI ran out of white doves feathers, to soak up the hot piss that comes from your mouth every time you address meā
āIām a tulip in a cup, I stand no chance of growing up, Iāve made my peace Iām dead Iām done, I watched you live to have my fun,ā
I could go on and on but these are just some that came to mind
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šReally i am coarsing through your veins. Bleeding you out. Striking a cord. Relinquishing my spine. Relegating autonomy to the massive misogyny. Reckless. unstable and a brat. Something to say at the least appropriate moment, It was us all along. The flute stayed in tune. I decided long ago I would stay. Only to let go of who I actually was. Be there when you can. You never were. Bribe your way to my heart. Lend a helping hand. Decide to be yourself. The glass shatters and I reflect on myself and who I used to be. Bad bad bad. All the same to me, I donāt care if you die of thirst. Your green with envy and it shows. Quite the pussy cat. The elixer is mid greatfuly so. I take my bath and lay myself bare. It shows. Just where have you been. All the while I have been searching and finding no release as to who I want to be. I choose this time. I decide where to put it. Wide awake and endlessly falling asleep.
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šŖ±Tightly drawn smiles
Loosely fitted
Scrubbing the drain, circling it even
Settling dust
Yearning for movement
A force of nature
An action plan, a family man
Laying down foundations
For impersonations
Renting down the river,
Winding up a creek
With two fists
To open my favourite window
And forget to close it
Letting the debris in
If bin lorries could tell stories
They'd sleep in an unmade bed every night
Wednesday morning, mother's warning
The man walks his dog
Through oppressive heats
And violent winds
Why can't you do the same?
Stop seeking answers
And seek a home
Stay there, stay away
The pegging to clothesline pipeline
Against brick walls
My balls bounce and fall
A pinch and a tuck never hurt much
But where do I lay my head at night?
How many mistakes
Should I contemplate
Were the force of nature
Blowing out my last birthday candle
With a giggle
A tightly drawn wiggle
A master of mimicry
But I know you, I see you
Your silk cocoon
Never strung for permanence
Your writhing
In step-by-step conniving will
End when you wake
To find yourself decaying
Stuffed in your rotten beanpod
Full of somebody else's shit
You never open the window, you see
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šŗMeta-irony is the fantastical pallet in which I choose to paint my world.
I find myself following confusing paths to strange allusions.
Sentences that switch back on themselves and examine the writer for meaning,
And truly burn them during a burial at sea to sink beneath waves of witticisms and filler words
Like, itās, okay, um, well, god; physical eye rolls careen over bodies of the learnedĀ
And silence is resented.Ā
Seek visual silence and youre staring into space
I seek the stimulation of little scrolling stories and their sixty second arcs
The recaps of art I will only ever see from this side of the fenceĀ Ā
Obscured by toggles and buttons. UX and UI blurring my experience and sharpening my understanding
Trapped in a cage of something elseās design, in someone elseās device
What I hold is not my own. It is not of me, it has grown attached to me.
A leech I love so dearly we share skin. A parasite I make space for.
My mind has holes where morals should be. Blasted out by years of prank videos
Of multi-channel networks, family vlogging channels, relationship advice gurus, discord moderators
I am the seed sown by excitement for lazer collections, gmod idiot box, and home made stop motion lego Star Wars parody music videos
Perverted in bad faith at the hands of a digital monster let loose by its creatorĀ
To put the potential for profitability through exploitation in the hands of the proletariat too occupied by dreams of influence to see how they are being led to the altar by the collar.
Asked to sacrifice time or spirit or soul to be left hollowed out by the house before it inevitably wins
The will is no match for the cold, mechanical force of algorithms whose nature is dictated by watch times
One sided engagement over engaged interaction
I watched too much YouTube as a kid and now I know everythingĀ
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šI could live better if I tried
My sink would have fewer dishes
The thought of eating would not cause my body to feel tired and weak
I dream of the taste of fresh fruit but all I can manage are fried pre packaged frozen disks of various substances
Fruit never stays
It deflates in my refrigerator
What was six apples becomes three, becomes piles of fruity flesh
Carcasses rotting like innocence in the glow of a small white bulb
Watching the life leave, confined to a cheap plastic cubicle
The spirit was never there to begin with
All I am ever allowed is dead
Brought from the store to my refrigerator like from an accident to a morgue
To stay cold