Echoes Below

So we're here with no way out. It's becoming a way of life right now. Too much to see, too little to do. I could've spent the night asleep but instead I'm rummaging through the pain. The sort of thing that happens now and again. But it'll be alright on the night even if stretches on one leg leave me to fall over. It's not very clever I know. The pain is there though ringing in my brain the moment my shoulder sets off. Darts through the cervical ladder and becomes another symptom to add to the list. In a miniature, I can feel whatever embers of life within me drain away. Purposefully. But that's nothing new. We're looking at a life in misery trying to do simple exercises that tend to go nowhere. Skeletal frame being a numbers game. My head, my back, my knee and my shoulder. The right side being destroyed. It's a terrible situation but one that I've become accustomed to. When you've been destroyed by humanity, there's little you can do but ...

The imitation paid well between the ears amongst the fears that's been going on for years. A shaded impact left with nothing to see but with the feeling of bruised love in its shadow. You may not like my views but at least we are respected for what we are. Just remember to stay silent when the time comes - a sentiment not shared by those around us. You may remind yourself of all the things that went before. The tormented dreams of fantasists who bear the will of destruction to bring about their idea of utopia. Whatever that may entail. But they chastise those who don't see things that they do and cleverly manipulate history to create hostility. An eradication of mind, body and spirit and a cynical invention to win the hearts and minds of the apathetic. You see us in the shadows ready to attack. We will use the fabric to lie and smear for what we want. Your governments, your ministers are all paid off and we will win in the end because that's what we believe. You'll only...

And so we start again, in time, in space and feature out in a new maze. The depression sinks and weaves its way. Setting the music to match the way things are. But even if it were out of misery, there's nothing like what goes before. Even if we dance the dance and dream of better days, I'd be too weary to wave back. I'd be too weary to even focus on anything. I find it exhausting in all honesty. I don't have the strength to maintain friendships and conversations. Just all too awkward and draining of my time and energy. A vastly depleted source of life. It's to my benefit that I still manage some on the right day. I wish there was a way out that was painless to everyone but to be a slave to commitments is all that I have left. The source of pain lingers in all places. Transmitting itself wherever it goes. Autoimmunity has been compromised and takes it up another level. And what do you have left? I have nothing at all! So speaks the guy with all the ailments. Might no...

The fog folds over me with a pressure of intentions. Cascading through reigns and making life pain of forgetfulness. The vibrations of modern life, the vicissitudes of venting spleen. All the blank heart, blank mind stares as we come crawling over the hill in blood and dungeon - a secret letter to our oncoming demise. The mist lingers like any good soul and steals information without so much of a fuss. Rolling in bent double on the lawns, too many people have been forgotten in a sieve-like memory. I look forward to seeing how we debate our lives with the only thing that can come good to certain practitioners - the onset of damn lies! Wherever you feel is the best way to go, whichever you feel should be the way to common decency, we'll fall into line grouchily to see whose lamb you slaughtered. We're not the same onlookers we were yesterday. We'll have a different opinion to suit our needs. And when the time comes, I'll tell you "What was I talking about again?...

Misread intentions - here's the glory boy's joy. Holed up in frustration over something that's pure. I don't even love you yet you fear for your life. Why interact when there are screens everywhere? Misread intentions - no point in being coy. Just conversation is all I'm really asking. Friendship is not the same as romance. But second guessing intentions is an international sport. I'm sorry for interrupting I'd just thought I'd pass it on! Misread intentions - stitched up to be the foil. I'd just appreciate honesty instead of dancing on my tiptoes around what is and what is not allowed. Mutual understanding remains demanding on a wavelength. Drift on away from the scene. A sense from a broken time, another life. It's what they always say. Or rather what they don't. Leaving indecipherable hints when they could just say it.

Making schedules just to tear them up again. Living on frustrated dreams and tearing people inside out for making your job more difficult. It's the same as it was before - someone asks a question and you make a theatre of bile and ridicule. Share your anger and it ends up in the wrong place. A distant time yet the same face. Withholding information for a long time as he hasn't done what I've told him. His complaints ring hollow to me even if they are the truth. Tired routines, tired excuses. I could gaslight him into losing weight, women have had to suffer it all these years, let's see how he deals with it. I don't want to hear him speak, the snivelling little gobshite. He's young so what the fuck does he know? Only I know where the answers are and not only that I HAVE THE ANSWERS TO EVERYTHING! Send a little letter so that I can persuade them to take him off the list. I'll send it twice in case he rips up the papers. I've denied him proper medication fo...

  Death frosted over as I'm looking for an escape. Dreaming of another world while stuck in a rut with a body scaling in skin. So many days are left just thinking of how many lives could be lost within someone's head in the span of morning, noon and night and all inbetween. I'm the one creeping out hoping no-one lets me in.  Plastic embrace, wasted face. The thoughts of yesterday's lip fillers aimed high but no killers. Disappear into the outlet of memory. The thoughts fleeing into the recess of it all. I don't remember the standard life we had planned. And yet I don't understand how I feel when there's nothing left to feel but the pain inside my body. The hoodoo voodoo dolls got me good. I'm just surprised they haven't killed me yet. You can see it all in the varnished truth that stakes its claim in lies. The machine we know so well can let us in on an answer that is being kept out by official sources. Smears, slurs and lies, the outlet of the rich ...

It remains to be seen how I fare from the act of oversharing. The vicissitudes   of modern life are a chore and I must be a deathly bore. Nevermind, I understand, I just wanted to get things off my chest. Pent up anxiety takes its toll on me and I could dream but then I can't. I just wanted a clear conscience. I guess that's too much to ask for

Follow into the echo chamber. Follow into the endless desire of a broken mind. Walking barefoot on glass splinters. The remedies we seek on further inspection. Lies, blame and deflection are the name of the game. I want to drown out her rampant paranoia or I wish that she would drown. I know it's not very polite but she drains the living daylights out of me. Glass half empty, glass half full - what difference does it make which side you see it from. Throwing away half your history because of a fundamental misunderstanding. We could tell you everything and you'd still revert to your own superstitious intuition. I could make a guess but I can't sleep right now. Listen to the music and drown me out. Cloistered in my own hermitic seal, the torment of living at the whim of others. What could we learn? What could happen if we were to be inside in another part of the world with something to live for. Here I just feel like I'm death reheated many times a day. Arguing over usele...

Remedy the renegade. Chanting until the die is cast. Made me dream of another life that's deserted me. I'm on the outside looking back. No use for weapons here, no point in attack. I see you approaching in the coldness of the night. I wonder where it all went when time creeps by. Sanction and sustain, times were we refrain. I'm growing old and more despondent. The lies I tell myself to keep my spirits up. "But do it with sincerity." Keep dreaming of an end of some sort if only just to tell myself that there's something.  All I can focus on now is the pain that never leaves. All I can ask for is for something to work. Another prognosis with an unconfirmed shelf life. You know the story from here, we just write the words. Medication is all there is.

Turning faces to the same old tune. Mix me a molotov or fly me to the moon. The pain stops here or it inflames. Playing games with the order we've had before. Same old score. The clichés run in here as you would expect. I've come to expect nothing less.   It's in the shadow of the environment. Cancelled appointments - the list of disappointments. Remember all your disturbed teenage dreaming. It'll never work here. But simplicity was the spice that came with a price. Your face in the shadows. Lurking in every memory. Spindly wires have you remembering every disturbed teenage dream. The spaces between friends gets bigger. Spatially enclosed, the nightmares make you remember phrases in other languages. Even in bad syntax you get the blues. Piranhas in the bathtubs. The perfect place to bleed for careless translation in transport. The injections will stop the pain only for a while. In the end there's always another diagnosis. If only things were perfect, these memories ...