Pah! don’t make me laugh. You don’t understand. Don’t you dare touch my hand – your clammy palms make me near-barf. The more people I meet, the more my floor becomes concrete; the more my stomach settles into this familiar hell. If home is where the heart is, then I am fucking homeless. I have no love for the unlovable: my hatred is entirely logical. Words topical, tropical or plain horrible. Of myself I am certainly knowledgeable; one who is not is a fool. & I’m sorry if what I say seems cruel, but not enough to stop me saying it; it’s never malicious, always in reaction. Don’t give me reason to hate. Each millisecond passed is far too late. Be you-ly you, not bad or good. Lifeless blancmange leaks under the hood. I too stood where you stood (when I had barely formed to foetus). With all the lies that they feed us you’d expect mass dissent, or at least some; instead, they stack in gaseous delirium. I’m so ashamed to be one. I fear for them. Maybe there is more good in the world, but that’s because there’s more in the world: this shit is a numbers game, & guess who the fuck is winning. Clouds condense in lieu of seppuku, raining down & braining the frowns; doused in scents to mask espionage; ingraining in the greying mounds. One world, two cups; door torn off or bolted-tight-shuts. Only squirts are preceded by thrusts; valve gears busting nuts. This world isn’t remarkable enough. To simply be shouldn’t be this stuff. “Civilised” is a scythe to living. Placemats are to dine, not live in. Society defined is a mess; implies social, but means much less. It’s another way we’re made to repress, & how many of me are left?

There is no joy in the outside world manifested by swirling vortices of self-centred creatures more worthless than pawns, ‘cause at least pawns have a purpose. You’re just sputum, coughed up & dissolve; I’ll grow old while you will devolve to less than a mould. Inconsequential coal burned in the cold. The flame of a lighter. This world is the ultimate joylessness. An angel’s kiss doesn’t exist – it’s fleeting human sucks at best. I’m in a corridor & I smell piss, pork, farts, sex & cocaine. The altered states of a mind with no brain. There’s nothing of worth here. Nothing is perfect. You are all maggots. You are all worthless.

Eat that! Take that, society! You want me to wear a tie, but I’m not! Well sometimes I am, but always ironically, or if at a wedding or a job interview – whatever dictates it. But I am untamed! Look at my glitter! Look at my pink! I’m a boy, but I’m wearing pink! Pink is a girls’ colour, but I’m a boy! WOW I’m wild. Haircut asymmetrical ‘cause I don’t give a fuck. Pretend my prancing is dancing while I’m lancing in the heart of all that is genuine. To compensate for the dulling insides I make a skin of rainbow for the eyes – the last ditch before the switch; before they find me out. Sex is good, sex is great, let’s sit in a circle & masturbate; jerk away the hurt, hitch up a skirt, squirt in her face: mark that bitch. Suture your hope to a future where this carries on & yet you’re happy. Paint shit gold & it looks real pretty, but scratch & sniff & your fingers smell shitty. I’ve witnessed cul-de-dac minds. You give up looking when there’s nowt to find. Lust sometimes makes organs swell, but a blort & a thought & it all dissolves. Holes filled, plugged with cotton wool. Soundproof the booth. Superglue the dogtooth…& your hands to your genitals. Wank yourself to oblivion. Novelty over individuality. A projected shell instead of a self. Undeveloped, just enveloped in what society considers sin. This is how a cripple gets by: seeks cheap thrills while their insides die. Tear to eye when capillaries rise. Sex in this context is bliss. All things exist in relative to how one already lives, & if you live with soul in seclusion a punch in the tits might be your rites’ battle, though you’ll pretend you’re misunderstood while indulging in your empty art; dead before you even start, an automaton whose song is long gone.

As far as I can gather, shit is a basic food. Humourless lips taste blatantly of poo, vacantly curled. Snarl at the world ‘cause your legs can’t do levitation. Cry werewolf. Widen the gulf. Cut permanent you’d only sulk. I am a hulk; you all just skulk. I will divulge the breach in the hull. You wear false smiles. Family events. Circumvent the silence. Yes, I get the excrement diet: crammed in your gob, make verbal diahorrea; swallow a log & it comes out the rear. But my ears only listen for my heart, & my tears are the hissing of my art. I see clear, & it’s all up the walls…think I might skip our dinner, after all. You wear false smiles.

Short circuit; blow a fuse. So much explodes from primordial ooze. Mostly dormant, a doom-laden deuce. There’s fizzing, fermenting in the gloopy stew; I’ve felt bubbling – bitter & stinging. Drowning out sound makes ears start ringing, ‘cause fire plus fire makes fire times two. & fire’s flame’s flickering can ignite anew. Vegetative or contemplative? Plaintive or casserole strained through a sieve? In or out the game? Do or doubt the same? Holy or muddy or cutty? What can we shape out of maggot-marble cake? The shit stream did flow into a puddle – now it’s a lake. What best is there to make? The deeper into the sinews you study, the more disappointment you’ll find, honey: hexagonal cells for dwelling; ADNR, no swelling. Magnified you’ll find that it’s finite – you’ll be looking for what simply ain’t there. Why do I care if I think I’m superior? Because I don’t, & this was their choice. Voices with the chair chat bare air. Insincere sincerity. There’s no care for the surrounding ripple. Fuck in corridors; suck that nipple. Morals are developed, which there’s no time for when you’re dead once you reach twenty-four. Screw a change: just self-indulge. A to Z-step ahead was the light bulb. Remember that one time you rebelled? When you stood up for what you stood for? They looked at you like you were a bad smell, then they beat you down to the floor. You learned a lesson that day: at war with more there’s only one way the battle will turn out, & they might not find you if you don’t shout. Hide under the floor: Lapadite will protect you until his life’s threatened. If too different from this iron core, your absence would be its benefit. Suicide seems the only option. Or if all you are is forgotten maybe we will let you stay here, living a life of fear.

I need an anaemic vegan corpse: bags under eyes & delirious thoughts. Her opiates bleed from my pores – my aura all she needs to have cause. The appearance of a Victorian whore. Mine the only key to her door, that unlocks the more that’s only there for the one who holds the key to her door. Craves my love as I crave hers. Hair entangled with grass & burrs, ‘cause we went on a picnic today; we ate bread with jam & grapes. Vigorous as rage but soothes our ardour; I laugh at the world as she says “harder”. When with the others we look so smug, feeling like gods amongst slugs. Everything is beautiful ‘cause we know that our other exists, & we slow dance even when we’re apart ‘cause we always dwell in each other’s hearts. Sometimes, when the day’s overcast, I’ll lie in bed & she’ll play her harp & sing to me from morning till night, & every song’s about me – in her eyes I see it; I wish I could be it: not just who she loves, but the love itself. We need each other to maintain our health; to be penetrated, made safe & delved. I met this girl once & she called us “dreamers”; she had a bigger point than she knew. I doubt we’re connected, ‘cause I never do, but I guess I owe her a thank you, ‘cause now I know I live in a fantasy land. There’s no one out there who’ll hold my hand: we’re all in this alone. We’re all on our own. Some people decided to ‘get stoned’, or completely detach their self from the zone. What is done is to the excess – to drown out the loneliness. Big iron deficiency problem. Hypoxia I know is outfoxing you. I know you don’t & will never get it, so please just fucking forget it.

Congregation makes me salivate: the more there on the floor, the more there are to hate. What I could do with a single grenade… I sit at a table, sip lemonade. Each social smoker, casual drinker, party toker, rib-bare thinker furthers my desire to call her…but, right now, I sit in the corner. My fish they are rare & tropical – coelacanths circa ’37; birthed in the sixth circle of heaven. For one I went further than Devon. One add one add one is three; minus three & it leaves me, the established-custom mauler…so they park me far in the corner. Here’s me at a party: tense as fuck & slightly farty. What if someone talks to me & I have to humour the maggot? Every word they say’s a dagger; hope of connection feels further away. That’s why every day I swagger: breathing is more work than play. People either always lie or are easily satisfied. I ache so much that I can’t cry. Really I would rather die, but then the world would be deprived of my singular take on life. So, hawk-eyed, I watch & record you monsters. I am the one in the corner.

Fearless façade fighting off the frightful. Let’s pretend we find a smog-shrouded sun delightful. Hateful thoughts spin a web circumnavigating head. Like lead a body rests, a position it detests. Gilding crimes with philosophy. Carry sack: colostomy. If there is meaning it is lost to me. Life gets ever-frostily. Flinging flying flooding flicker. Marshmallow mind throbbing thicker. Salvaged shine with studded sticker. Snigger at triggered rim-licker. Pant. Sigh. Inner-die. Innards fry in scorching scorn. Wishing you were never born. Dwelling dawn with plenty horn. Eggs in basket, hole makes empty. Nests are left by every bird, now just a circle of sticks. The bad is textured brick, a wall taller than any illusion. A child might react with confusion. Headbutts praying vague contusion. So much repressed depression, logically one cannot call it ill. Nerve-ending hari-kiri, a void absent of thrill. “To be depressed is to be aware, happiness is ignorance, whether it temporary or permanent.” – I quote another human. Being that we dwell in an interconnected plane of existence, that so many feel separate from the all is fucking horrific. So detached from the beauty always available to everyone, the solitary psyche becomes an inescapable dungeon. Fumes are pungent, diligent. Squidgy between blistered toes is the mud of dull aching thud. The skin eroded from bones. So alone, but I own these emotions & it feels epic, like I’m a knight of the universe, like I’m a soldier of beauty. Brave metatrons using tools to try & solder some semblance of sense for those who grow colder. Growing older means new pains for youth brains. As I grew so did the solid structure – metaphysical bamboo cane. A quick whip to the lip stings with all the pain of once again. Stains on a gusset, I trust its warmth – the familiarity of concession. Loves found, so profound, but the stars aren’t aligned & they won’t allow. Cows lie down & frown at brown & grey & brown & grey. The look on my face as thoughts bore through my eyes, spilling sorrow onto slices of time, cutting hearts like sharpened knives. Extract the ore of this poor sap, his soul takes a nap. Being beautiful doesn’t pay & makes the vital organs ache. Constipate the hate, the joy. The see-saw a ploy using its power to annoy & hopefully eventually destroy. & if the hand reaches & sterilises all fertility, it was by my own whim, depriving life of my ability. Static dilemmas offer enemas to emanate the great out. Even an equal would be none the wiser – of flesh one cannot break out. Staunch isolation. A patient taking each second at a time. Waiting to wave goodbye to a way that welcomes walls, a wanker-sty. I try to cry sometimes but am dry of all emotion, my being dry-heaving – wanting, needing, craving devotion. What can I do? There is nothing I can do.