Cast away

It’s a shame, it’s a damn shame.

Thinking I was a part of...

Slumped in my chair

with the last movements happening around me.

Heads hang and dangle

and eyes avoid.

I guess I was a spare,

or a bit part.

You both start to gather up your share.

This little room shrinks until

it feels like a locker

and I’m the only one in left in it

with the letter that they left between us.

​

Removed from your world.

The paper bushes and trees,

made out of dusty cardboard.

A 50s film set witnessed through a cracked and dirty screen.

Scabby head stuck to my dribble pillow.

Decaying bones in chicken-shop boxes

next to wank socks and sweaty pyjama tops.

A world away from the stars, in that frame of atoms of moments.

Lived in their own full colour.

​

All my friends think I’m dead.

Money, pussy, weed...flesh, fur and faeces.

A pleasing cadence, taming disorder, that which is enjoyed but not felt,

that which is felt but not admired.

I stopped meditating // I watch porn again.

I bounce between the grim and the titillating.

​

I used to care. Wanting a say on a range of matters.

To be consulted.

Let’s see what he thinks.

A head, floating over a throne-seat.

One day to be exposed with nothing but a dead, bisected infant to show.

​

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