It's been 14 years but I still feel the echoes of her. Shades of indifference lead me to the physical state I'm in. I relapse in memory. There are times when I feel my mind has been destroyed. The more I wanted to let go, the tighter its hold. I really would've been better off dead than to give the impression to anyone else that they don't matter. If I could disappear inside the machines, I'd be the ghost that lives inside.

Another Promise

Said there was no time, no place. Distant reflections in wistful states. Promises made that were never kept. I was the teenaged fool who believed in you. And in that obsession, I dreamt of a fire that would burn us alive. Or only my memories for whatever they're made of. I can't shake you off, I'm all alone. It would've been better being invisible than be a child to your dreams.

Recreating photographs for amusement, I fell for spells and trances so that I could dance to you. I grow older and more ill. I would've become a shadow to your light. An energy vampire feeding on your life to satisfy my frail ends. But you don't see me anymore. Some others are jealous that they don't see the same madness that I had infested with you. I just know I can't live with another promise like that.

When I'm frail, I follow your trail. I become a guide to the pathways I left behind in my pursuance. Innocence would like to think of apple blossoms and tender nectar. All I see is poison surrounding me and the traces of time that I won't get back. Promise me never to promise anything again. Life is unworthy of people like us.

And I hold back. From life, from dreams, from media. Another part of the world. A forensic experiment. Left to the side and up from the middle. Have I destroyed everything just to be a part of you?

I can hear, I can hear, I can speak to the sound of anxiety's pulse.
I can see, I can see, I shall seek the sights of paranoia's curse.

Seething in politics, when I don't see you. I wish for you in your colours. I want my words to become a highlight of party policy. But it won't matter until it all goes away. It won't matter until I disappear. 

Picture. Identity. Place of residence. Tax slips. Wage slips. Bank statements. Proof of address. All says they couldn't care less.

Secret Life of Optimism

You can lay your hope in politics and a dream of a brighter tomorrow. They can see your vulnerability and it's just a step away. It's a game of Chinese Torture, whiling away the hours. I want to be taken into her secrets but I know I'm just hoping my life away.

There's too many times, too many hours, different regions, secret stations. I'd like to pay my respects but I haven't got the chance. In certain methods, I dream that new beginning but know there's another life just waiting to be pissed away in another longing. I want to forget and I want to be forgotten. 

I want to be taken into her secret life of optimism. I want to be taken for a fool. I want all this so I can believe in a better life. But I'm no nearer the secret to make that fantasy a reality. There's too many times that I've opted for something and returned with nothing.

Trade despair, trade apathy, trade despondency, trade sickness, trade health, trade your life, trade your wealth. 

It's your time to shine. Evading questions - the secret cue. And when it all falls apart, we'll blame everybody's chosen target. Because it's easier, more feasible, than taking blame for what we've done.

Worn Out

Worn out by love
Worn out by pain
Worn out by people
Worn out by talk
Worn out by dreams
Worn out by expectations
Worn out by dismay
Worn out by politics
Worn out by society
Worn out by animals
Worn out by children
Worn out by exercise
Worn out by appointments
Worn out by hope
Worn out by fear
Worn out by anxiety
Worn out by feeling
Worn out by sex
Worn out by it all.

Shifting Politics of Stupidity

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 old things that make it all worse.