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A day of fucking days.
A letter to treasure.
It was worth it. Worth every burning step, every clenched-jaw walk-away-from-the-keyboard moment.
Baby steps. First leaves of spring.
And life begins again.
A letter to treasure.
It was worth it. Worth every burning step, every clenched-jaw walk-away-from-the-keyboard moment.
Baby steps. First leaves of spring.
And life begins again.
We have lumps of it round the back...
Not far from the centre of the town, between the shuffle and grind of the railway and the jostling thrum of the mall is a small and forgotten patch of land. It crouches, torn and stray and completely overlooked, and the midsummer's rain falls warm upon it in great shifting sheets. Scrap metal and rags and lengths of timber bed down amongst scrub and dead-brown stems of grass. The place is long abandoned and touched only at the edges by the glow of the streetlight. Ramshackle sheds and junkie-dens squat along a panel-fence divide, scarred flanks of needle caps and rags. Feral cats, all torn ears, undulating yrowls and staccato spitting come he
The Grey in this City...
It creeps into every little corner, every curled-up warmth, every carved-out resting place, every ragged crevice. It rasps in my throat and it gasps when I wake and it chokes when I fall and in every way every single day is coloured grey.
'And the grey in this city is too much to bear'
And it weighs so heavy and my shoulders ache.
But every heartbeat, every crash of the drum makes it mine, shapes it, takes it, funnels it into a bottle and stoppers it. Down in one and the devil's on your back and in your veins, or maybe you're in his. And the damage is done and the image was never sacred and just watch how quickly you are no longer forged i
Wild dogs and dead bodies.
Such was the nature of the world when it was split by ice that wolves and men crossed paths often, for they hunted and killed the same creatures, and in this both man and animal would strip a carcass to the bone, every shred of meat wolfed down, to risk a pun. The bones cracked under jaw and flint to release rich, creamy marrow, and dead bodies never littered the ice for long.
Man killed wolf with a contradiction of fear and bravery, wolf killed man with hunger and instinct, for food was scarce and the nights long and hungry regardless of species.
Man had fire and made shelter of skins and bone, wolves had sight and smell and a pelt to hold
What Keeps Mankind Alive
There are trees here, but they hold their branches high because they must in order to survive, there is no strength to them.
The river flows.
The Oracle squats, fat and artificial and effluent over the muddied waters as they crawl sluggishly through the car fumes and discarded cans.
This place of polished plastic architecture and the pre-aged pre-torn clothes feels sick. The people are made of the same lifeless plastic as the cartons and crisp packets that creep along the currents of the near-stagnant water. Their faces are blind, noses high, and I hate them and I pity them and I fear becoming like them, losing that which has always been
© 2012 - 2024 Dead-Mercury
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