It's a dark, night. Everything's in black and white. A well off man with bags of confidence goes through the crowd. He talks with another man before going into a building. After he opens a second door, we cut to a play being represented in colour. A woman in a red dress moves balletically across the stage to a sofa where she takes the covers off to reveal some books. This motion is repeated twice and once she picks up the books, a man with a Belfast accent holding a gun tells her to put the book down insisting "We don't want to get hurt do we?"
I felt like a wreck trying to walk to the bus. My body's in pieces and I'm told that I hope to get better. Meanwhile I fall apart. There's no sinking ships here - just empty vessels. There's no use in florid language when I describe what's really happening. Physio appointments, subjects of pain. Moments of wondering if this is real or just another example of a photogenic death. No one reads you anyway, it's all just for show. But the part that wins is the part that dies. Bone structure and muscle tightness. Linking the two together so that they become stones. The rest become like glass. Rehabilitation of destruction. Seismic shifts in disintegration. And we build our laws on shifting politics of stupidity. Hip to hip Heart to heart Who knows that we're all Just fallling apart And in these silent moments, I feel so stupid that I only wish it would end. A pill, a cream or something stronger. Tomorrow's another day. Another day to repeat the same...
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