right after realization of
they say ecstacy blinds the beholder to
the true nature of the world
and that of our lives
in that case with any joule of nrg i could muster
the smoke the mirrors the dust cluster
the iridescent hollowy dark, the
meadow- hallowed, shallow; harrowing sorrow of pointless tomorrow
marrow and tear shed for jackshit sweetblowall
and then trickier still
took ink to paper
huddling like a fucking hunchback'd retard
like one indiffirent-to-the-syllabus teenagr stuck
benched by its friends this weekend
now it must mope or study for mondays paper
alas, every goddam word a chore
yet find myself at the familiar point
where i grip the prose by its skrawny, insekure, instekt-like neck
Proceed to inflict damage with words.
I twist the verbs like liquorice
Into balloon animals - made of liquorice
It is, as far as I know
The One Thing
The one thing I can do with delicate craftsmanship
Life. This bloody life.
This lacklustre, mother, fucking disaster.
We watch days ebb and flow
Day and day after
It has its moments yeah, but they can only be reminisced upon once gone.
Not savoured in the present.
The only time an entity we miss is when
it is no longer
within our grasp
life is best enjoyed chilled
^ ironic because:
life is a cold thing to bear