nah baby

get lost

ain’t got nothing

i want

call me hollow

so what

married to money

deadeyes

deadheart

deathstream

don’t support

usury

got a problem

for copies

of a copy

of a dead monarch

married to money

if i did a documentary

on you

you’d be a fly

fighting to move

stuck with other flies

on a strip of glue

screaming about the ‘truth’

while your legs pop loose

1 for the dollars

2 for my pups

everything else

middle finger up

take a running jump

married to money

interactions turned fractions

traded human places

for polymer faces

for polymer cuts

stack it up

stack it up

stuff the mattress

pack the attic

covered in cash

lost every bond i never had

securing the bag

too much to carry

amor fati

bundles of fetti

run through racks

like tracks

out your feelings

out your head

out the red

for the bread

for the bands

until death

married to money

stone in focus

on repeat

letting go

of what might have been

chapters

paragraphs

worm paths in a cenotaph

foot soldiers

through trinkets

through trash

parisian protest bin bags

& tear gas

to the pinpricked falcon hood

can almost taste the truth

through the hole-punched roof

lightsaber in an echo chamber

the eraser

consumed

laser pen vs. balloon

aka the process

aka a story of sliced knees

aka therapy for muscular dystrophy

the ballad of entropy

run to thunder

face the tundra

make peace with transitory beauty

fall to the burning floor

raise open palms

pray for sudan

white noise in the void

throttle losses blue

bury them in a field

firebomb bridges

cut veins

two fingers up

blood as war paint

everything is fucked

aka everything is ok

watch red flow from the ego

watch plasma congeal

is there globes in haemoglobin

or game theory

or api queries

false flags turn scab shields

aka tombstones on heels

practice patience

one step at a time

one action at a time

exiled

but

everything else in front

buckshot wounds like candy runts

leaking hours

leaking months

until time is up

drone in the hex of a honeycomb

fabricate limitations

low vibration imitation of an inpatient

ai

simulation

or a demigod magic isopod

each minute

gostra on a gunship

aka no country for docile men

a coin flip

call it

“do you have any idea… how crazy you are”

come so far

from sega mega drive

lion king days

couldn’t beat scar

call it.

Samaras

The winged seeds of maple trees

Break free

Spin down

To the floor

Past the Scarface blimp

‘THE WORLD IS YOURS’

Some become Seneca

Some sketch an exfil

With a pencil

Or alcohol

And Advil

Some spend 45 years compressed

At a desk

Spine=Slinky

Slave to the Outlook diary

Slave to the salary

Another casualty in the dead-eye gallery

Crushed by variable rate rape

Never germinate

The attrition of tradition

Turns good seeds bad

Food for mushrooms

Food for feeds

Food for zombies

Oh, pretty please, FATHER TREE

All my beautiful dreams became ‘coulda/woulda/shoulda beens’

Became WASTED! GTA5 scenes

On the Truman screen

Be that as it may

The fact remains

There are 2 universal truths for all helicopter seeds:

1: They fly

2: They fall.

Been thinking ’bout loss

A lot

Over the last few decimals

Last few dots

Numerals spin like slots

On Ra’s wristwatch

Counting coins in pots

Taste like blood

Taste like aluminium

Look like POGs

3 cheers for what we got

For every ball: dropped

For every heart: stopped

For every wall: hopped

What is, is what’s what

Tha block iz hot

Zombies watch vlogs

Angels turn cogs

Transcending every box

Soar more, StarFox

Circle crops

Leave secret codes in treetops

Quest books, with multiple plots

Thumbed pages, propped

More soul than a whole skate-bowl full of Crocs

Flip your lid, kid

Flip your rock

With the force of a caber toss

Cock your bow

Cock your glock

Shoot your shots

Beautify holes with pretty, sticky gloss

Seminoles don’t roll over

Don’t sign treaties

Don’t call leech-ghoul-pagans boss

Never that

Forever not…

Been thinking ’bout loss

Quite a lot

Been thinking ’bout loss

Quite a lot

Remembering how to play organ

In this abandoned church

Covered in flowers

Covered in fire

Thanking GOD.

First name, starts with L

Middle name, ends with L

Surname, ain’t got no L

But might as well

Taking Ls

Facing L

Life, starts with L

Death, ain’t got no L

Unless it’s hell

Then double L

Take that L

Hold that L

Swallow Ls

Tales to tell

Or curl up

In a shell

Shudder

Another

Double L

When gladiators

Emerged from cells

Faced armoured lions

Few prevailed

Claws and canines

Impaled

Left entrails

Like snail trails

But if you fight

Ain’t no L

Hero

Has no L

Legends

Teleport to cornfields

Leaking L juice

Looking pale

Win or fail

L

Love, L

Loss, L

Two sides of an L

Sheer on one

The other has a tail

Turn your head

Like The Exorcist

Snap some bits

Off a crucifix

It makes an L

It’s all just perspective

It’s all just Ls

Ls link as chains

As DNA

Erase eras like the Antonine plague

And from the …

Comes wings

Comes new days

Even when you think an L is done bro

Still have to hold it

Like taking L plates off a Volvo

So roll with the combos

Gauze/glass glove blows

Lacerated

Appreciative

Yup

Ls on Ls on Ls

Face your Ls

Take your Ls

Hold your Ls.

On first name terms

With a small horse named Bonnie

By the park

She comes when I rattle the fence

Black with a white racing stripe

Hair anklets

And ilvaite eyes

She doesn’t seem to mind

The flies

Drawn to her pretty face

I feed her reduced carrots from Sainsbury’s

(20 pence)

I want to tell Bonnie, that recently, I’ve been questioning whether some of my memories actually came from reality

Or have bled into me

Through weird wires and dreams

Or intravenous icicles

Inception spears in the meat sphere

Basically

Been struggling to separate time and space, like church and state

Multiple mistakes exacerbate my tendency to conflate what’s real and what ain’t

A state

But she don’t wanna hear all that jazz

She just wants what’s in the bag

(So pop the plastic)

To be honest, I’m glad

It’s a waste of air being sad

Long live Bonnie

She’s the best

(Gon’ be aight, gon’ be aight)

X.

it wasn’t my intention to sleep through another morning/day/weekend/opportunity. i feel terrible heading into monday. again. maybe it’s always been this way.

scratch that, start again.

it wasn’t my intention to sleep through another…

*eye twitch*

*the pages are empty*

i have a list of goals for the year, pinned in the corner of the whiteboard above my desk with small square magnets. i thought that, maybe, some focus would stop the muffled taunts in my head.

+sulfur+

i’ve come a long way. you could say that i have absolutely nothing to worry or complain about anymore. that’s true in some ways. but in all the ways that matter, i’m a complete mess.

i’ve prayed a few times in my life. in 2011, to get on a graduate scheme. at airports. drunk and alone on an abandoned plot of land at 3am. i think they are turning that land into offices now.

i don’t drink anymore. it’s been 103 days.

my asks were ‘small’, and generally, granted. get the job. don’t die in a plane crash. other things i’d rather not go into.

recently i woke up dead. again.

in the background i can hear sparse, slowed piano keys__-___—_

the constant headaches make me go cross-eyed.

i’ve been on my own my whole life. even when i’ve been with others. i can never relax.

xx

i think i’ll give it another go. i’m really not sure how many more goes i have left in me. 1 more at least. for old times’ sake.

i’ll summon something from within, instead of spinning the wheel with an unknown entity.

if/when you pray, don’t make it about you all the time. it’s best to not ask for selfish things from something you can’t see or understand.

there’s a price. and you always pay. 1 way or another.

always.