The trick is to stay angry. Contentment will be the death of you. Always want more. Strive for what’s out of reach. Be hungry for all they say is not within your grasp. It’s so easy to become stationary. To become pale beneath a godless sun. The worst thing is to lose sight of yourself. Of the person you once were. All those dreams. That vision of fire and wine that carried you through the night now gone. When the desire leaves, there’s nothing left but an empty shell. You go through the motions. You pretend you’re happy. That your’e a cog in a well oiled machine. But you’re not. You’re a phantom. A ghost with no way home. There was a time when I became this. It ruined me. Safety in pleasant images. Working for others gave me false serenity. It numbed my aching bones. I longed for danger yet retreated into pleasantry. Such piss poor reflections of distorted mirrors. Such woeful excuses for having forgotten my true path. The trick is to desire all that seems obscene. To crave images of lust and perversion. Salivate at the thought of all those wonders yet to be tasted. Deny apathy. Gob on derision. It can take years. It can take decades. You might not get the chance again to be who you once were. But if you rediscover the vigilante who reigns your stupid heart, let him destroy all that he deems fit. Worship regret. Let it drive you forwards. Bow down to all of your mistakes. Curved roads make for the best way forwards. Backwards is beautiful. Smile on dim afternoons. Wake up even when you don’t want to. Cherish the heartache. Thirst for the lonely roads that almost swallowed you whole. Thirst for the damned as they got so close to dragging you down. The future is within us always. Wrapped up in the past. Submerged in the present.

The clock ticks. It counts us down. Repeating even when we beg it to stop. Sometimes we don’t even realise. We never take the time to understand what is precious and what can be discarded. And truth be told, almost everything can be discarded. War makes us stronger. Nature our birthright. Freedom in tears. Freedom in laughter. Imagine how things might be the day we become what we always intended to be. Childhood imagination so vivid. Death is just an idea. It holds no meaning when we believe in something more. Stillness and motion. From my fingers to her breasts, there’s only sweetness when faced with nothing more. Piano music plays in the echoes of my mind. It resonates like flowers in bloom. Autumn lovers like the breeze in a graveyard. All those names just hanging in the air. We were there. That’s what they cry. We were everything. That’s all that they ever knew. Artefacts of love. Hands on thighs. Lips on summer lips as the songbird calls in a new beginning. The end of the world as we know it. Strangers without guessing. This stuff that we hold on to. It falls like trees in forgotten woodland. The kind that reeks of sex and danger. Harmony can’t become. We can only ever be in a constant state of rage. Fuck the pretty patterns. Fuck the niceties that others smile upon with complete devotion. The road is never easy. Nor should it be. Suppression is fatal. To grieve a portrait of something we will never quite manage. Gravestones of kings. Markers of faith. Hate is the most important four letter word you’ll ever know. It comes above love. Don’t deny. Just open up your arms and breathe in every last drop.