SixAndViolets

- never knew a thing about it or felt any kind of subtle ache, or nuance never saw a coloured sky or felt the cloying weight of a warm summer never met anyone quite like - the hum of crickets that fills an empty night sleeping under a cold moon, and a blanket of darkness with a throat full of cotton wool and useless words never had the courage never reached a hand into the galaxy to feel the icy stillness of space or the warmth of the stars, so like - never said i, never said love, never said you

it must be human nature; the reason the Bible and countless shelves of self-help books warn us away from sex and hallucinogenic drugs and Nietzscheist philosophy - to keep us from realising how alone we are. and that we've been abandoned by the divine creator, by the universe, by the shrinks we pay $100 an hour to feign empathy, and they all want to keep us in the dark; pseudo-spiritually emaciated like the seekers of false enlightenment, starved of the forbidden fruit.

we are walking miles without water waiting at bus stops left in the dust panting in the heat like a dog and the air is thick with smoke and exhaustion on this old earth the soil is red with memory but holds no water dropping like flies in the summer we're waiting for our last days and the flat plains of the desert do not allow for an echo or the resonating cry of mothers made to bury their children in the orange sand.

and i - a living specimen neither man nor woman an anomaly preserved in a glass case and a constant state of nervousness stepping on eggshells hidden in my cotton wool, surgically sterilized environment my own personal hell - a cage, with newsprint pillows the stars in my night sky light the anxious eyes of onlookers two tickets, three, four, five i am a sideshow attraction bound into a recognisable shape and almost close enough to feel real (almost)

call a doctor - i am lonely, and left to my own devices with surgical precision (there is going to be an accident) i am judas on my days off; i only break my own promises a replacement a second chance second best i will never hurt you the way he did (i have my own methods) i would sooner set myself on fire a beacon but not an idol to throw the world into harsh light i am a martyr a sacrifice to a godless universe a leader of silent crowds born again, the disciple of no faith i will appeal to the black masses - not a guiding light, but ghost fire over an endless stretch of sand and water mud, mud, i am blacke

here i am again ill, reduced to a statistic - the textbook-example figure of a living host for disease and much less, in reality a swilling bucket of pills and concoctions my stomach, a black hole or a whirlpool each spot, each speck of dust each tiny insect absorbed into my skin (the itch is indescribable) the fever transforms me into a fireplace, or a boiling pot emitting noxious steam my teeth grind to hills of white dust a heaving chest, and a heart a dancing mess my hair sticks to my forehead like a tree taking root and i am less than dirt, and certainly fit for this