I’m sat in the corner of the room looking at myself. A dark shadow hangs over me. The world rages unseen. The troubles that occur with the turning of a clock. Behaviour fails when enjoyment makes way for routine. The day to day bullshit of trading dreams for normality. This life is too bland. Originality is forced. Chaos cheapened by the need to create success. Marketing woes like gold dust in the pan. Hollow eyes not knowing where the safety of music will come from next. Stars in the hive of madness. The pressures of life. When you come apart just take my hand. Never let go. Float away somewhere calm. The myth of seldom seen sons. To be individual when being different is feared. You can only stand apart if it looks good on camera. You can only succeed if all traces of mystery are removed. Man adores sterility. The culture of plastic dreams adorned on thoughtless shoulders. Praise merchandise. Lust after events worshipping advertising. Get drunk and fuck whoever. Sell yourself for comfort. Animals and machines dancing somewhere in the jaws of hell. So many relics. So many hopeless causes just waiting to be blasted to kingdom come. Follow in the footsteps of a lie. Declare yourself vacant for whoever wants a taste of something long since destroyed. Failure is glorious. Like a blowjob on the sands of some exotic land. That tongue around my cock, and the way it stings just right. All hail the great deceivers. Smoke cigarettes and read dog-eared books for clues on how to escape humanity. Coffee makes me wired. Wine makes me tired. The difference between heaven and hell is uncertain. Unborn babies haunt. Lost yesterdays taunt until I’m blind with regret. Fear is what cripples us, yet without it we would remain silent. It drives us to make a stand. To carve our beliefs into the fabric of what we call being.
Starless desires sold on the cover of every magazine. Religion desensitized. Prostitution valued above all else. To the faithful departed. To the faces that made us. To the smiles that gave us life. The great invisible war. It tears us apart. There are never any answers, only questions that linger in the wind. The clock runs slow. It betrays all that I know. Portraits of lovers. Pieces of feelings scattered about the floor like a letter shredded in a fit of rage. Those pages of truth never to be redeemed. If you help yourself, then you’ll be helping me. These men that never speak. The routines they abide by. Only funerals bring them together. Only death can set them free. You know you’re right. You always did. Promises sweet promises picked like the petals of a flower. King of pain. Nausea on every street corner. About a girl. About a boy. Anxiety drives. It pushes us towards a state of understanding. Not freedom nor dizziness, just a wish to be safe. How does it feel, to feel something real? How does it seem to be that we always misplace what’s most important to us. Perfume distorts. Money buys nothing but a stab in the dark at resisting nature. Books to sleep on. Drama and garbage to appease the dreadful ones that suckle. They suck for nourishment. Anatomy bores. The foetal position offers hope. It gives small animals a reason to be cheerful. Golden hair. The sea takes me back, it makes me want to exist. Wave after wave of suffering. From safety to where. Nirvana in every breath. Tranquillity eases sarcasm. Pathways covered in snow where dogs once did run. I see them still, behind cold hearted eyes.