Makeup

patriarchy

Vanity

empowering 

embarrassing

a nuisance, a chore 

Joie de vivre, j'adore. 

For ego 

For protection

Cover scars

Display 'perfection'

attract, lie, entrance the weak

make money, make masks, designs of deciet 

must wear it 

patriarchy demands it? 

Beauty has never been more accessible. 

Trained to be ashamed of the natural.

 

What of those without blessed complexion. 

cursed, disregarded, desperate for recognition 

salvation may only come through

shaded contoured painting.

Ego?

It is the natural world

It is how bloodlines grow

Only groomers successful

Will have their oats to sow.

Why do Women wear make up?

control

Hide

Art

Pride

Love

Hate

TV

Fate

Mycelium

 Mushrooms provided the answer.

The mushroom’s ability to ‘digest’ oil and plastic and other toxic waste materials identified itself as the perfect reset. Mycelium, the fine web of cells that branch out from the fruiting part of the mushroom and acting as the fungus' nervous system and stomach, could span for miles upon miles interconnecting willing flora. Microplastics and other toxic materials made solely for industry and destruction still existed, though thanks to mycelium, they could now be digested. The mushrooms were spawn and seeded by the Animate. It was the first act of a higher being that understood the necessity of nature above all, and it paved the roads for inter connectivity between all living things for generations to come. Inside each spawn, a picobyte. A tiny artificial multi-celled organism housing a nucleus capable of transmitting electrical impulses ‘messages’. This was how the Animate communicated with the living world. 

Psylo, a psychoactive content of a specific type of mushroom had the ability to reduce anxiety in hormonally dependent species. Ingested or distributed at certain levels, the active ingredient could deter an instinctively aggressive response, or dissuade a looming depression, could balance erratic cycles of serotonin, dopamine, androgen secretion, especially in mammals. It’s psychoactive ingredient could save people from the fears they created. This was the first step towards peace between the warring Etchians. Subdue fear, contain it within, understand the chemical processes and then define the parameters that would ensure such fears could not be harnessed to exact unprecedented destruction ever again. The picobytes that ran through every living organism in Etch also coursed through the veins and blood of each Etchian providing a connection never felt before to the world around them and to the Animate itself, and introduction of trace amounts of psylo to the blood of each Etchian enhanced this connection tenfold. It allowed the Animate to study the Etchian species and thier actions and it was through studying the distress and hormonal response of the last years of the Simian war, the Animate was able to provide the balance. A mild ‘pinch’ on the hormonal secretions of both the male and female of the species, or cushioning of extreme levels to be exact, combined with added psylo secretion should the levels of testosterone, estrogen, serotonin, dopamine, adrenaline , oxytocin, cortisol reach levels above the desired range, ensured the outliers that usually displayed erratic behavior were calmed, cooed, damaging impulses subdued. Combined with psylo Etchians erraticism began to dissipate, and fighting slowed, stopped, a new enlightened introversion of oneself and one's actions opening up a question only previously asked by a few. Why? Why are we fighting? 

The spark

 First, there was the spark. Then, everything. Noone could really remember what came before. Whether anything came before. Or whether the spark was the start of it all. It mattered not to most, they had jobs to do. My job though was simple: 

find your shadow. 

simple, right? 

These were only lines of code I could retrieve from the burn. Why I had been chosen for the job I didn't know, my utility was minimal at best, still, I was chosen. Find your shadow. My shadow. 

I know I could just look behind me, follow the trail. It was sometimes called a 'shadow' by the oracles that policed the platform crossings, the memories of oneself recorded on the blockchain, but something clawed at me, twisting my head in a different direction, telling me to look deeper. Find your shadow. 

 I needed to know what came before. I needed to know the first memory ever recorded on the blockchain. And find the agent that recorded it. I needed to know their purpose, their goal. And I needed to know why. 

I felt compelled by something to get an answer to the question I know deep in my code I should not ask. 

What came before the spark? 

To get any semblance of sense, any slither of a clue, there was only one place to start. The Great Neural Net.  

The noose

Whiskey shy, shouts crash through these thin walls. 

"Fuckin sort it out"

"Go on en, fuckin go on en!"

"Na didn't fuckin think so"

"Chicken shit, useless fuckin prick"

Outside smoking, the back door opens. 

Neighbour

Muttering through ruffling of hair

He sits down, elbows on knees, and head, finally, falls. 

Smoke rises between his curtains

Hands held out limp, clutching death between fingers

I glance at him

Broken

inside she's still screaming 

"You alright pal?"

I ask

His head picks up, hands clench, eyes quash the glistening that has been growing inside them. 

"Yeah" 

He smiles. 

And then sighs. 

Looks over to the open door

then to the opposite end of the garden

and back at me

drops his head again

"It aint too late"

I tell him

"It's never too late"

Sleepless

 I roll as I wake

And pat the space I expect you to be

It's 3am

Your still asleep 

Leagues away 

on the other side of the great 

mega bed

A slight snore leaves your lips

And magnetic shuffle of hips

Brings you closer to me

I smile 

Watching you

At subtle beauty

The t-shirt you wear

Crossed sticks and drums

I haven't played In years

Repose

The nights over

Eyes closed

Hounded by

Haunted Memories

Breathe quickly

Our Toes Touch 

Gently 

Exhale

slowly

drifting off

Finally

Serenity

Undefined

 Stuck in the in-between

Not quite red 

Not quite green

Not quite lilac

Yellow, purple, blue

Not quite me

Not quite you

Not a label

Not a stable security

Impossibly

Everything

All at once

Not defined, refined, aligned with what

'Should be'

Not part of this 'society'

Only part of part of it

Not enough for all of it

Not enough whatever you call it 

With who to connect to

Not quite me

Not quite you

Choose

You must choose

With who to connect to

Not quite me

Not quite you

Jelly mind

 Don't try to be clever when not knowing what to write. Don't try to rhyme or work within the syllables. Especially if coming down from a heavy weekender. Everything becomes secular. Each tiny magnificence surrounding becomes insignificant. The only thing important is to fall into film. Head first. Body is the enemy anyway. So dive down crown turned to comforted pillow and bask in the hollow. Bask in the utter incompleteness, Resting sleepless, under covers of daylight. Body wants food. Eat food. Snooze. more food. More food. Hunger isn't even a problem. But it becomes one as the hangover begs and pleads for more grease. Phone off. Or at least far away. No that's too far. Check messages. Of course no-one has texted in the last 60 seconds. Throw phone to other side of room. But it's still on. It will have to be picked up at some point. Spend next 2 hours arguing with self to get up and retrieve it. The belly calls the shots, pizza it says, pizza. phone retrieved. Pizza ordered. Back to writing, nope. don't try and be significant. Not today. Thinking through lines hurts eyes and head so instead phone firmly OFF. Smile, cuddle down, snuggle in. film suddenly becomes interesting. 20 minutes daze past, brain frantically sifting through important and unimportant information.  But then. One thought creeps in. Shit. Phones off. How will the pizza get delivered.? 

Fuck.

Within not without

 Biscuits

Beans

Mandy

Charlie

ket

 o.g

Sticky brown

Squidgy black

Coffee

Coffee

Beers

Coffee

Wine in the sunshine

Beats dancing dreams 

nakedness free

And naked trees

Incredulous

Oblivious

To the words shouted at us

By the media circus

Outside this bliss

No wifi

No phone

No capture

upload

Conversation 

Spoken

With meaning. 

Here is your family 

Here just be

A world Away 

from the tricks of the screen

relight

 seeing your smiles

your laughs

hugs and hopes and happenstance

shared with those you think you can't be a part of 

anymore

warms 

my 

soul

I stand back and watch

keen to remove myself as a possibility

watch as your mouths move a million times a minute

to the beat of the gap that has grown between you

and within seconds 

you are 

rekindled 

Anew

and I smile

I've known for a while all you want is love

from those that you want to be a part of

I've known for a while that you need me

to step back

so I do

and I see you 

smile and laugh

hugs hope and happenstance

with a family you have just wanted to be a part of

enough

I hope its enough 

Because

With every step back taken

I drift a bit further away from them

Away From a family 

I just want to be a part of

 

secret

 Apprehension wrestles anticipation 

packed up goodies

leaving work to get lost

questions roll around clouding vision

routine has only just settled chaos 

and now, this

am I ready for it? 

6 long years of nothing this festival resembles

6 long years of aggression, depression, relentless

6 years of undermined angst

6 years passed, at last

I am all this secret garden is

walking splendor between trees 

all people

eyes open 

free

more love, drugs, hugs, dreams than can be spoken through cracked pursed lips

for

no-one here is your enemy

no-one here is your enemy

no-one here is your enemy

I start to believe

Maybe

Just maybe

I am 

ready

inertia

 4am 

Fuck

every time

big event today

must be clear headed

3 hours sleep

face hangs heavy

eyes blurred

coffee

coffee

coffee

memory drains

focus failing

too many papers

waiting

for 

the crash

one 

last

email

sleep

sleep

sleep

Angel

When feathers fall In their dancing grace

Our eyes meet

She destroys me, ever so softly

A callous injustice on my weakened soul

her tongue curls and lips moisten

glimmer of disastrous deeds flicker 

through her

into me

Brazened and beaten I react

And set my heart alive

I want this women

I need her

For She will be

my end

The trip

 I think I died a few days ago

At least that’s what the shrooms told me

A single blink of pure nothingness

Everything completely stopped

And then

just

Darkness

It didn’t feel so bad

Freaked out initially

But if that is all death is

no need to be anxious

It is just a point 

where all things come to an end

And the world 

ceases to exist

In Utero

 'In Utero' was the albums name. Nirvana. 

Blake had found it cracked and gritted and opened slightly by the side of the road on one of his walks home from school. He had been just 11 then. He'd never seen a CD before. All his friends at that time had iPhones, Samsungs, Huaweis, and google phones, all chocked full of irrelevance and musical spectres. Streams of previews and promises, but never ownership. That was the way of the world back then, times changed quickly. People still collected vinyls but more for nostalgia, for show, for decoration, the vinyl itself rarely played. CD's in their own right, were dead. 

Lifting the cafetière and pouring the hot black contents into a mug, Blake found himself thinking of nothing.  Stirring as he did he clinked the spoon in time with Kurt's cracked pleading vocals. 'I've been clink locked clink inside clink your clink heart clink shaped clink box for weeks...'. Picking up his mug he moved over to his sofa bed (it took all of 4 steps), and sat carefully next to Lisa's rigid paled body. There was only one window in the bedsit, and outside rain pounded and cried and clawed tendrilled streams across the small window pane. Only light from the TV, illuminated the small room. Static, black and white, dotted and pixel patterned coursing across the screen. There was no white noise though, Blake had since turned the sound down, replaced instead with Nirvana, replaced with Kurt. He had removed the needle from Lisa's arm then, and had placed it on the kitchen counter next to the cafetière. Lisa hadn't moved of course, she rarely did after a hit. 

He sipped his coffee and stared at the static. He had known this day would come for a while so he just sat, and stared, and listened.  'I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black'. Lisa had been streaming for years now, nearly a decade. She often let herself into Blake's flat, stuck on an old VHS movie and had her hit. Blake had refused at first, disgusted, bewildered, and distraught by the cancer she was injecting herself with. Soon though he had realised that better here, in his bedsit, with a VHS, something concrete, than the alternative. Better here where her streams could find some purchase. Oft times,  she would come too in between hits. He would be sat next to her, with Nirvana in the background, and they would see each other, and smile, and they would be 11 again.  11, where they sat in their shared bedroom, huddled round an old Sony Discman, with one earphone in each, listening to Kurt's strangled screams of rape and love and abuse and anarchistic melancholy-  where his rage could be their defiance to the sounds of rape and love and abuse and anarchistic melancholy coming from downstairs.  

Blake took another sip of his black tar and stretched his left hand over to his sisters face. Cold. Their mother would be here soon. She had wanted to see her daughter before he called the hospital. Blake hadn’t argued, there was no point. 

Carefully, gingerly, with a shaking hand, palm to her eyes, he felt the lashes and stroked down shutting her sight. In the other hand he held his coffee. One warm and comforting, the other..? Their mother would not want to see her daughter staring into the abyss. 

His hand returned to his brew, to warm again, and he let his gaze drift from the television set to the object that lay on top. As he did, Kurt in his gravel, rang out his chorus. ‘Hey! Wait! I’ve got a new complaint. Forever in debt to your priceless advice.’ There, resting above, on top of the tv, was a cd case, cracked and gritted, and opened, slightly.

Blake turned his head to look at the lifeless body of his sister, then, back at the cd case. 

‘In Utero’, was the album's name. 

Nirvana.  

It Follows

 Everyone has a shadow.

We are all chased by them. They are the part of us that carry our hatred, our loss, our destructive torment, regret, shame and secrets. They are the part of us we choose not to show, they are our truth. We cannot run from them. With all our efforts. Whether born again, rejuvenated, reinvented, they will always chase us. We only know the way to mute pain through the experience we gain from our own mistakes. Our shadows are already on our shoulders. We can never run from them. They are us. And with each waking day, they draw nearer.

It’s just in this place, in my world, we can see them, we can feel them.

Some understand this too late and are faced with their mortality far too early

For our shadow will always catch up to us eventually. And take us with them into The Blackness. Do you walk hand in hand with death, or ignore it when you wake?

Why do you think your world sells sex, sells celebrities, alcohol, sells hopes, dreams, the starry eyed rose tinted potential of possibility. Platforms to create a new person. Why do you think your world thrives on showing the lives of others on your TV’s?

In one heartbeat you can see them dressed, sequins flowing down a carpet of impossible red, gleaming through the flashes and beaming their perfect white smile at no one in particular. Then, just as swiftly, see the cold, see the destitution of those have nots, clawing at one more day to stay in your world. And be comfortable on your sofa

It’s all a distraction..

The people of your world have long forgotten their shadows. Forgotten why they are so important. Forgotten what they mean. Most trap them in their hearts with a cup of tea, a map, a design. Most people in The Real World believe themselves to be of good conscience, of good intent, believing themselves selfless, genuine, sincere. Most, are wrong. They have merely forgotten the lessons they have learnt throughout their life. Ignoring the way a person reacts to their quiet leering comments, scrunched faces, reeling at something they’ve said, or, agreeing with what is unsaid, internally. They carelessly dispel that feeling they get after hearing the crunch of a snail crushed underfoot. They choose to have another beer, to put on cheaply manufactured threads without thought of their origin, to pick sides and walk past desolation.

Most people choose to ignore the dominoes they push. 

This is why your world was created. Ignorance is bliss. And your money helps you buy it. 

In my world, we wear our scars as shadows, for all to see. In this we face morality, unhidden behind a Visard, open, like the sores you see on the wrists of the unshackled. But, in this, we also see our own mortality, which is why every action counts. We have not departed from our origin as you have.

You have an opportunity. A choice only you can make.

Will you welcome your shadow and become all that you are? Or choose to hide behind your own eyes, choose to believe the lies that are spread all around you and listen to the whispered echoes that crash off every wall in your world?

You have the choice. Meet your shadow.  

It is, to be free.

To know you are not separate from the cosmos. To know that your part in this life is as important as the next. We are all made of the same underneath our skin. Particles. Part of a whole. Part of all. Part of it all.

There is no separation. We are all as we are when we came into this world. We are all part of a living breathing ecosystem, we are not our skin. We are the shadows that follow us 

Welcome your Shadow.

Start 

to 

begin.

The silent worker

It was the crisps that saved me. 

Grand packets titled in a language not of my hometown. Not of theirs either. Dialect of the invisible worker, designing luxury for the ones that trap them. Ni mang Juan. 

I sit in my car, darkness hangs silent, propped up by artificial sand, ringed by black blood, fuelling the lives of others far away on the other side of the country. 

hand reaches in bag, one on tongue, suck up chilli vinegar then crunch, one after one after one

 Stare out to sea 

stare out to see the faces raged with misplaced hatred at their teacher. 

I am a stranger. 

"Let us be", they cry. 

We don't need English with Allah by our side. And then smile and spit on the floor. 

Throw books at the one who comes to clean it for them. Throw desks at the one who teaches them. 

I swallow, pea acting potato sliding down throat. 

Preconceptions tell me no one can make crisps out of peas, it's an impossibility. But, it is more than any crisp I have ever eaten. And somehow, it heals this beaten teacher, contemplating inclusion in this desperate situation. 

5 minutes of eating, 

breathe and think... 

I

am

lucky.

They, have no choice, that is why they are angry. 

They have no choice that is why they hurt me. 

They have no choice, forced to make miracles for their captors. 

They have no choice, a pea, a potato, a passport. 

Have, have not?

 Humans

BBQ flesh

Delicious….

Savages

Or 

desperation

Protein

For the unseen

Anemia

Bacterial

Poker

Unclean

Reverie.

Consume

The dead

Become part

Of the living

BackStage

 We spark em up  

in this light bulb moment 

Huddled under smoking 

In the Rain 

 

A Cast of cuties  

and their party darlins 

Rock ‘n’ roll lotharios 

And their pain 

E

 Dragging my feet I resist the beat and find contentment in melancholy

All around are the sounds of frowns turned upside down by the clowns of secret garden party

But I don’t feel

I am not included

For inhibitions have become deluded and are jailed by the diseased thoughts rotting through my brain

the same tape

Playing over and over again

I should have sprung upon the chance to release my anger

Tell her I couldn’t stand her anymore

That the very sight of either of them raged an internal decision that wedged a slice in my moral division 

But I didn’t act, I didn’t react. I just stood and stared, impaired by the impending despair I was to be thrown into.

I’m glad I haven’t seen them again

no matter how much my twisted mind imagined their end 

In all truth

I couldn’t bring myself to raise my eyes to them

for loci is my intent not my intervention.

So as the sun beats down on my harrowed head

I follow the lads into the remix tent

A stage ablaze with dub step DJ's Magnetic Man and fans tearing it up their own way, sending a rippling wave across the masses and the crowd loosen their legs and let the music guide them

I see Blackers riding the wave to the stage where the rest of the crew continue to rave

And I follow

 Moving slow and steady to the enticing entrancing harmony

I find a little pocket in the crowd look around and clock it instantly 

Josh the adulterer smiling uncontrollably as he invades my mates, has his hands over the face and hips of one of the girls.

'That’s fucking it, had enough of this shit!’,

clenched fists

teeth grit

a red mist descends over my eyes and I stride side by side with Blackers but I don’t notice him this time

And as I carve my way to the bane of my insanity with daggered glares and muttered profanity 

My body becomes tense,

hell bent on inflicting the sort of pain he had on my brain and self esteem

I reach him as I smoulder, tap him on the shoulder draw back my hand ready to make him look 40 years older

But in the midst of the swing forward

another hand intervenes,

screened from my eyes

I turn my head to take in who would dream of coming in between me and my destiny and it’s her.

E

Instantly the rage drains from my veins and my eyes, ears and body are filled with the softness she instils and I relax.

Her hand travels up my forearm to my clenched fist where she uncurls fingers and calms it to rest in her hand

and she stares into my soul

Fully in control of me now

she takes my hand down to her back, still in hers, she turns.

 And before my ego can put me back on angered roads

She slowly, gently, leads me out of my own personal inferno.

Now away from the raving bass my angry face turns to sorrow

Still following her I wish for tomorrow for another day to be as far away from the person that almost destroyed me

But as I contemplate my fate my eyes slowly rise from the floor

Lain in front of me is a sight only the rare see 

Lights glow all around all different colours that dance to sounds of freedom over the large lake behind main stage, illuminating reflections of the stars and the pirate ship bar in the middle.

And she turns to me as we stop on a hill away from the festivities

And she whispers, barely audible, close to my ear

“Your time is here,

not then and not before,

not tomorrow,

not anymore.

Now

this moment in this time

with me by your side

Let go

Let go”

She pulls her lips away and brings her head close and looks into me

Her eyes radiate perfect innocence, redemption, a rebirth from my crippling malevolence and I notice her, not for the first time, nor the last and my hands start shaking and she clasps them so tightly.

Ashamed, I can do nothing but look to my bare feet

The raging intensity of hatred, mistrust, betrayal all apart, combine in crippling velocity as a sledgehammer on my heart

and

I

break

down.

One tear at a time, slips from my eyes and after a while, grow to a divine monsoon

I am at my weakest

awash in vulnerably

a soft wind could easily shatter the stability of my legs at any minute

but it never comes.

Instead so very calmly a soft hand guides itself under my chin and she pulls my head up to a level position

She has me

in her eyes I see fire, I see health

a wealth of love in kind and caring, a beauty that I can’t stop staring at.

And she utters but a single sentence

“You have to die a few times before you can learn to live, forgive yourself”'

My heart and head, battered by the surge of emotion click in time once more and for once, before becomes no more.

As the only thing in this moment is her,

the one

I adore

And then it hits me, a distinguishing clarity. 

My heart is hers, and hers in me,

it always has been. 

I was just too busy looking to see. . .

quicksand

 Fastidious and berated

days play havoc with senses

Murky and forgotten memories of an innocence 

struggle to break through

And pain is all that resides

Longing for an exit,

Yet too tired to take it

Muster up the energy my son

Another day

another dirham

midnight saloon

 Baby in this evening glow

Turn your head to me real slow

And through golden locks feed me your woe

turn your bare shoulders to me

Leaning in seductive tranquillity

On this opened cushioned ocean we sleep

With grace and guile just sail your lips

To the seas of my soul

And dock them on mine with subtle slow

And exist

In us 

together,

in this 

endless evening glow

The betrayal

 eyes regain their vision

parting me from myself

and I focus on the black weight pressed against the head of my so called friend

“fuck you, don't say a word to me” 

I whisper 

“do you have any idea how this feels?!”

“you don’t give a shit about anything!"

"What the fuck were u thinking?!"

He cowers and trembles

Turning from the barrel

And mutters something almost inaudible

I lean forward Toward him to catch his desperate breath and He stammers

“d..d..dont kill me, please! I don’t know why I did it”

“I don’t think I just act I..I..I can’t help it”

“can’t help it!?

I snap

"You knew EXACTLY what you were going to do!”

“I saw your eyes all over her when I introduced her to you”

I look away for a split second and tainted tears start to swell

Memories of her touch imprinted 

Her smile, her taste, her smell

My anger rises again 

he knew what he was doin’ 

He knew all along

I should paint his brains all over that fucking wall

the inner turmoil starts to show and my hand starts to drop

Eyes blinded by the ally he's been to me until..

Stop!

memories play machine gun pain

And the devil deals one more card my to

Battered, broken brain

I can’t let this dirty cunt get away with this

how many times has he fucked someone else's mrs?

My finger tightens round the trigger 

Quivers at the fury that has arisen

“you were supposed to be my friend”

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING??"

 

at that he crumbles and fear turns to despair

and urine starts to spread itself down his trouser leg but again 

he doesn't answer the question.

I harden 

square gazed to his forehead where cold steel rests

Amid waterfalls of perspiration

my eyes burn 

Intent

“I TRUSTED you, I treated you like a BROTHER!”

“And you FUCKED me for another notch on your four poster?!"

“I loved her, you know that?!”

“we even talked about moving in together”

“but you fucked it you BROKE US, and you broke me!”

“so now I will do the same..” 

“repent motherfucker”

“For I AM LOKI”

The latecomer

 

“Mafai mushkala”

he says to me

a wide grin stretching his honesty

“Mafai mushkala, Teacher” 

repeated again as he strolls in 

with outstretched hands

10 minutes late to class.

with eyes of death I bore into his bravado

breaking resistance before it begins

and the smile recedes

no words are released

bright menace 

burning them whole

Until his arrogance has faded

and shifty eyes search for a crutch from other students

but they have seen this glare before

they know to keep quiet

“Mushkala” I say

“big Mushkala” 

I know not the word for big in Arabic yet

but my students are smart

and he understands

next comes the pleading

as his name goes in my book

I direct him to his chair  

staring shards of glass

and he sits on the broken pieces

no longer comfortable

another battle won today

Tomorrow he will be on time.

I hope

Coming home

 She leaves again 

Closes the door but not before 

 flashing that sweet smile 

understanding in its nature 

But it understands 

nothing  

 

‘You'll find a job’ 

She says each evening she returns 

Cooks and chats for what is deemed 

Enough 

Then is off again  

To her work, to her livelihood 

 

And each time 

I'm left  

stood 

 

In more moments than I choose 

I revert back 

And question whether coming home so soon 

Was really the right decision. 

 

For her  

yes  

to see her  

Yes 

to hold her 

Yes 

to feel her heart next to mine 

Yes.  

 

For me...  

Maybe she doesn't realise 

What happens when she closes that door 

That purpose in any sense is lacking 

That grim depictions of the future 

Lay lurking 

That all my mistakes in that place 

Follow and taunt 

And life without purpose is 

an impossibility 

For me. 

 

It's been two months of watching that door close 

Two months of living off her coat tails 

 

I am as lonely here as I ever was out there. 

Threadbare  

And broke 

 

At least there I had purpose 

 

Here 

I am a mere side note 

 

But I cannot say these things 

Without seeming 

Like I am not proud 

Of what she has become 

Of what she's done 

On how far she's come 

Since I last closed the door. 

 

As if I am not supporting her 

In her new adventure 

 

I cannot say these things 

Without upsetting the 

Precarious 

 

Despairingly I have 

Once or twice 

And unfortunately  

Her eyes glaze over 

And a comparison between 

Herself and my place of former residence 

Plays like a 1930's black and white 

Cinematic 

 

But 

There is no comparison 

I want to tell her 

Being with her is magic 

Is illumination 

Is revelatory 

 

Coming home should have been easy 

 

But she closes the door 

With a sweet smile  

Each morning  

And I am left with myself 

Again 

 

With no purpose 

With no money 

With no life 

With no end.