Its not getting better.
Its the time of year for it.
for being a guy, for dying.
inviting over every person you know.
like a birthday party.
Asking them all, as a gift to say one nice thing about you.
You put on food, thank them all for their kind words.
You then go into the bathroom, recently tiled, all white-
and slit your wrists.
You die, or you don’t.
but after all of that they will never forget.
The scars will never touch you.
Empty bloodless wounds, wound up your arms.
Blades on the floor. knife in your side.
eyes crying their final tears.
Mongrel thoughts leaking from your body.
Loose, lucid. Feeling, sensation then freedom.
Forethought and death, two plagues.
Having to do something but not having the value or self worth to create and do beyond yourself. Too much time learning.
Not early enough. So restrictive.
We’re so lost.
Those people, psychopaths. Talking about death and loss.
Their son, maybe they were unashamed.
Free. But there was something natural and dangerous in the immunity.
Must have just been the mood.
Jumped a fence, picked some fruit.
Stole some dates.
Stole a glance at two women on a tuesday night.
Every woman, the “harem”.
What a cutting thing to say.
What a cunt.
Until my beauty fades.
Pathetic. Scarred I will not be.
You might be found dead.
Magic how the world works.
Spinning random action.
Bundled into a car.
Hit over the head.
The chicken was killed today by a dog dad said.
I feel like a few weeks ago marked her dying as well.
Hung herself. And I never talked about it. Its just sad.
And mum died on the 16th. 2 months ago.
I named the chicken after mum.
It was called Di.
Its dead now, no more shit everywhere.
No more eggs.
We didn’t eat it dad said;
because it was family.
I suppose that’s right.
Pets are terrible.
Just a lonely whole where they once were in my heart.
My poor heart.
solo solo solo.
Cry cry cry.
Living in it, swimming in it.
Pollution, birthdays and again.
flux and change and raising and romance and failure and love and marriage and failure and failure and conversations too hard.
And popped tyres. TIRED. TIRES.
work work study study.
Honesty, hugs kisses, silence.
Barriers and tiredness.
all that learning and stretching out how I feel.
Trimming my pubic hair.
Gum and dates and plumbs and anger over distance.
Its all gone to shit.
Shut up and fuck me.