There’s Fire Where You’re Going



Bodies in the rain that shift and change while you’re too busy checking your phone in the hope that some major disaster has occurred. If war has been declared, does it mean I won’t have to go to work tomorrow? I do hope so. But then they’ll be anarchy and people will become more animalistic than they already are. Plus, if there’s war, it’ll mean I won’t be able to take a bath each day, and I’m not having that. Being clean bodied helps to make up for the fact that I’m dirty on the inside. A smeared soul and a smeared heart hidden beneath pearly whites in plain sight. The town is drowning again. All the drains are blocked, and there’s sewage flowing down the streets along with dog shit and soiled nappies. When I was younger, I always thought it would be cool to swim around in the area I lived in if it flooded. Y’know, going through my school and into the shopping arcades like Echo the Dolphin, y’know, from that old computer game? But childhood fantasy is always hampered by reality. In fact, every kind of fantasy is hampered by reality, because reality is for those who accept what’s given to them. It’s too bland, and blah blah blah for its own good and those that adhere to it are to be avoided like the plague. Speaking of plagues, wouldn’t it be cool if the black death came back? Yeah, I mean, it wouldn’t be cool cool, and it’d mean I wouldn’t be able to have my daily baths because the world as we know it would collapse, but it would be something different and people are trash. Not me, though. I’m a good guy, I swear. Just imagine how romantic it would be. We could escape by living deep in the woods. Just you and me in a cosy tent surrounded by magpies and foxes and bunny rabbits. We could take with us a shit load of disposable barbeques and packets of meat that we could keep chilled by submerging them in a river. I’m not going hunting or anything. That shit’s just barbaric. And I’d fill up rucksacks with energy drinks and wine, and we could make love beneath the stars and spend our days telling each other ghost stories and playing games of ‘I spy’ while walking hand in hand as if we were the only two lovers in the world.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

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