Early Myths of My Younger Self


From a heavenly plateau to the wastelands down the back of the sofa. Finding cheap gold to afford energy drinks and wine at the sacrifice of eating food. Those days when to drink was more important than my own health. Those days of autumn wonders. Leaves and snow as you stood there not knowing the horrors of the future. Turtles swimming in vivarium’s whilst thoughts of mayhem riddled my unsure mind. Spiders and cracked tiles on the kitchen floor. It’s important that every little thing stays with me. The past is not to be denied. My history a badge of honour, a way of discovering the secrets of the future. Anxiety whilst waiting in line at the local convenience store. Shaking hands and heartburn as others squirmed around me happy in abject misery. They writhed around in false sunshine as I tried so hard to keep things together. The way they looked so normal at times whilst I was on the verge of some kind of breakdown. ¬†The here and now. It makes me feel so small, but at least I feel real. That’s what matters most. Despite the sadness and the haunting sense of loss that never leaves, I know that I’m alive. That I’ve loved in the face of apathy. Against a world of indifference, I tried to be someone different to others, someone who stayed true to themselves. It hurts, but what else is there? To become like everyone else? To live the lifeless joys of all those that have gone before me? This path is a solemn one, yet it will set me free. I feel it in my tired bones. I feel it in the depths of my drowning soul. One day, I’ll run into the sun and breathe the kisses of the universe into my tired lungs. I’ll surface when others will think I’m gone. No such thing as luck, and no such thing as a fluke. Just persistence and belief.

Light a cigarette whilst closing your eyes. Lights fade as the wind creeps in through the open window. Footsteps travelling always away. The scent of heat leaves me at a loss. I’m so much older than I believe, yet the visions in my mind keep me as young as I need to be. Age is irrelevant. It serves no other purpose other than to damn us before we’ve even woke up. Sleep makes us, then life takes it all away. But what if imagination could help us to cheat this fate? What if the faith in my heart could help me to become something more than just a distant memory? The bubbles we created. Those moments when we existed outside of everything. Beneath blankets and stars we chased black dogs into submission. On the cusp of revelations, we fucked because there was nothing left to do. Our bodies mirrored in a TV screen, the 80’s chewed at our toes as the day passed without us even knowing. The seed of myself. The weakness of your fragile mind. Falling always, the pain of all that could have been picks away at me even though I smile like I know what’s going on. They see me as a fool, as some kind of jester, yet I’ve been beyond the dim lines of despair more times than I dare remember. Noise doesn’t mean intelligence. Money doesn’t equal interesting. Let’s get lost, just the two of us. Let’s lose our reflections. No more you, and no more me. Only love to save us when there’s abandonment for everyone else. Sunday morning napalm attack on my alcohol stained brain. Need to drink more water. Need to go for a walk and lose myself until this heart of mine is fine again. Solitude and myth. City dress so pretty at the foot of my bed.

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