These English days. Gravestones and poets, arm in arm and wishing to be left alone. Friends beyond words. A sadness in the air that brings comfort. A natural melancholy wrapped around flesh and stone. The trees speak of time. They whisper of things amiss. Animals and children, the innocents who need protecting. Monstrous humans, more evil than the devil. Man’s inhumanity to man. Oblivion through sex. Bodies and minds, twisting like branches reaching for the fading, autumn sun. The scent of damp leaves. The scent of a woman’s hair, alluring like fine wine and flowers. Beheadings and torture. Knives taking lives so easily. War for the sake of war. Killing in the name, of nothing in particular. Fictitious gods, and heavens not worth a dime. Centuries spent burning love like wood. Lifetimes gone in the blink of an eye, drifting like crisp packets in the wind. Stones in pockets. Roads of yesterdays, slipping further and further away each day.
Get drunk and fuck. Get fucked, become numb. Pick blades of grass with nicotine stained fingers. Should’ve been born a girl. Mirrors false like dreams. Reflections dirty like cheating hearts. Limbs of boredom. Mouths of empty promises. Birds chained to the pale sky. Cold September mornings. Smoke blown down to the dreary ground. Hangovers a reminder, of all the things we lost in the fire. No sense in keeping hold of those who never cared. Those who reek of cheapness and ugly intent. I want to see a billion colours in someone’s smile. I wan’t to feel alive in someone else’s eyes. To become a lover. A giver of emotion and faith. A door to the river, where all truths will one day be discovered. Dust settles on the bedside table. Patterns are made when the hours tick away. Cigarettes are smoked when safety is craved the most. Everything is still, and everything is caved in. Hold me, and never let go. Keep me warm, and kiss me until I fall asleep far away from harm.