People Who Died


The time is whatever. Other people are whatever. Love is a screwdriver thrust into a tender belly, or perhaps a razor blade slashing a slender neck leaning out to be kissed- whatever hurts most. But the pain shouldn’t be avoided, nor should it be worn with shame, because to hurt is to feel, and feeling is what most people have an aversion to. Sure, they may claim to have it all figured out, but those that do almost always do not. In fact, anyone I meet that claims to know who they are and what they’re doing in life are to be avoided at all costs because those tedious parties are almost always lacking in magic and existing merely on the surface. They bore me as much as I bore them with my questions and scenarios they claim to be foolish, but they only say that because they know only rules and function and not the beauty of art and the free mind. Did I mention the drunk guy who got impaled up the arse in a town I used to live in? This kid had been turned away from entering a pub because he was too drunk. The thing is, the pub bordered a church, so he walked through the graveyard next door and attempted to climb over the railings into the beer garden. This was all happening late at night one Saturday, and sure enough, he slipped and lost his balance and impaled himself. Poor fucker bled to death right there. A few days later they taped flowers to the very piece of metal that had pierced his internal organs. To think that happened several years ago. Jesus, I must be getting old. Or how about the seventeen-year-old kid I knew because he was friends with the brother of my then girlfriend? He was Russian or something, and on my breaks working a Sunday shift while studying at university, I would stand with him in the same cemetery and smoke a few cigarettes and chew the fat. He was working in a bicycle store at the time. He even took me on a tour of it once, but I wasn’t impressed because whatever. So yeah, I didn’t see him for several months and subsequently found out he had died from a drugs overdose. Took a hit from some coke that was too pure. Just seventeen, no age at all. Isn’t it strange how time gets behind you? Isn’t it sad to think of all those who never had the chance to keep chewing the fat?

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

5 replies »

  1. Beautifully written Steven. Even with its ugly underbelly we love life though its meaning always escapes us. x

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