Echoes Below

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.

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. ...

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.

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 we...

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.

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...