Phase #1



These clothes haven’t been washed in days. This flesh that stinks of cheap romance. A car crashes on the outskirts of a municipal district with children trapped within. So many broken promises. So many ghosts that haunt when outside my window the night sings my name so softly. Limbs in the gutter. A roof on fire with a thousand naked bodies screaming below. All those lies thrown down wishing wells. Those trees that have grown so tall out of neglect. A forest between us when once there were only fields of golden corn. Echoes in the voices that wash over our sleepy heads as we try to dream but fail so miserably. Alone and awake at 3 am. So many lonely roads. So many lost pieces of madness not captured by words. The ambulance lies abandoned. Stripped of medication and smeared with faecal matter. Afraid of commitment. Afraid of biology. Hospital beds in corridors. Figures shrouded in mystery as a blanket of cigarette smoke keeps us numb in our dishonest ways. Pissing in bottles. Tearing pages from an unwritten diary. Being sick in plastic bags containing books and letters to future lovers. The stench of my dishonesty is legendary. A magical liar with a taste for all things wicked. The crows circle the leper as he attempts to cross a river of oil. Shove it in the future. Kiss the living empty. Deck chairs on the Titanic. Eaten by sea creatures and those who cling like leeches. She’s got a spastic uterus. She’s got a clock in her heart that’s ticking backwards. Bombs for her temper. Spiders clenched in fists and sushi bars full of misheard conversation. Beaters of women riddled with small cocks. Porno girls with daddy issues ripping tissue to ease swollen despair. Cracked knuckles in drug-induced blubber. Bellies of locusts. Downtrodden witches with lipstick ready to ward off all those years of damned defeat. A bath of sand to take her away. Snuffed out by foreign interests, she is mute when faced with her pale reflection. Icy moons between her breasts. Medication scattered across the sidewalk. Stray dogs and victims of lynch mobs. They set her on fire and record her end in high definition. It doesn’t touch them. It doesn’t touch me. Deflection reigns supreme. Monolithic. Phase after phase of worsening mental health. Circuit boards and French tapestry. Deaf and dumb kid locked in a cupboard. Blow smoke in his eyes. Pour boiling water over his genitals. Scald him with an iron and then eat trash while falling asleep watching repeats of yesterday’s weather.

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