by on November 8, 2021 :: 0 comments

photo "Jittery Ride" by Tyler Malone

Beatnicks. Road kill. Submissives.

A thinning ozone with polar slush on the side.

Rape/abduction fantasies; the penitentiary; amphetamines and variety shows.

The world bulldozes by, totally oblivious that I’m trying to sleep.

Thoughts are as heartless as facts or feelings.

You wake up; dreams are kicked into yesterday; you wake up and you think you’ve slept in; it’s 6:25 AM.

To-do lists; groin kicks. There’s a wall in my head, in between the limbic system and, um, that other one.

Wi-fi connections; pregnancy tests.

To-do lists.

Why did I come back? Whatever stopped me from turning my life into a Hold Steady song* (or a Quentin Tarantino film**)?

I’m stranded in a sea of corpses, a blanket of pearly bones.

I’ve got a lot to do, but my brain won’t sit long enough to make a list.

Your skull trembles with the promise of concussion. Even the police are still. You can’t apologize, can’t even make eye contact as you jump into this sick world your tension birthed.

*“I was out of my head, so it was out of my hands.”

**“I’m pretty fucking far from okay.”

So, I can’t build worlds atop pop culture references. I’ve got tons of people to save and a hell of a lot more to ruin.

I see every mistake before I make it, and still I choose to attend opening night, I choose to take too much. These gray cells mean so little to me, I learn more after I throw them away!

Withdrawal; swan lakes; flavoured lubricants. Lovers you need to let go of but can’t… or choose not to.

Humans pretend we’re sorry victims of sensation, but no matter how hot or heavy the fog, we have the strength to resist. Responsibility is easier to ignore than admit. We claim attraction and darkness are these mad, ungovernable forces because we need them to be. We need to be hapless puppets. We need to pass the blame.

Abandoned condoms; regrets-to-be. They said there was “some madness in love” and I never really believed them. Your head busts a move to that problematic dubstep but this scene is so far past you heading home and making friends. Even the DJ is staring, and there’s no way you can ignore all that blood.

The End

editors note:

Lost is always where we find ourselves, so maybe that’s what’s meant to be. ~ Tyler Malone

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