Shimmering Substance



There’s dust in the air I try not to breathe, but it’s just impossible to resist. There’s sunshine that keeps tickling my toes as they poke out the foot of the bed but the day can go ahead and wait. I’m busy being lazy, so leave me alone as I lie here dreaming of portals and all the dead pets that have slipped through my fingers over the years. Are they now in heaven? Are they running through fields of green awaiting my eager voice to once again cry out their names? I doubt it, but it’s a nice thought. There are cups of tea to ease hangovers and hangovers to ease the problems of the seconds and minutes and days that eat away at my confused brain. The stink of a beer shit is king. The words that bubble in my veins- they are my queen, and for as long as this thing goes on I shall worship them with utter devotion. I am a writer, right? This is what I do, or is it just some excuse I make to get me out of a way of being that speaks to me of everything that’s wrong with this world? French kissing and cigarettes by the side of a lake. Sushi bars and half-eaten sandwiches left on balconies for blackbirds to eat, or perhaps a cheeky fox with a taste for something sweet. Old graffiti and poems regarding banality and war. Love letters written in haste tasting of insincerity and a need to belong when there’s nothing to belong to. I used to think there was something profound about life, and I guess there is, but not what I was lead to believe. There’s no use for jobs, that’s for sure, nor is there any need to maintain an appearance based other people’s expectations. The only thing to do is know that none of this is important. Seriously, it means nothing, so let me draw a door and pull you through and give you a piggyback down winding streets looking for symbols relating to those dreams of extinction we first had back when we were teenagers. Let us chase the night so never again will we wake with regret on our lips. It’s so easy to forget who and what we used to be, but there is a light, and as long as it keeps shining, there’s a place where the likes of us can dance with abandon safe in the knowledge that tomorrow will never come.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

7 replies »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s