Do you know what passion is? It’s not some hippy love festival of flowers, dancing, making daisy chains and those cute little notes you leave around the house reminding your partner how romantic you can be. Passion is fire, it’s desperation; it’s a clawing in your throat right down to your heart, like a gritty belligerent need for life when you’re already alive! An imploding tapping, like a clock that’s rapping, in the hunger of a silent scream, scratching, clawing, massacring every now tainted enclosure.

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I could feel the slow onion-like crunching of my eyes with every blink as my ears amplified the nothingness of the air like a delusion of reality was lifted. I felt bound in foreign cloth-like skin as my stomach collapsed open, like I’d been gutted alive – I could almost feel the wetness where my entrails had slivered out, almost hearing the nigh crackling of infinitesimal frail fibres as the blood bleed into the fabric cloth of my skin.

My stomach was my opening, my escape from this vile corpse in which my mind had been trapped. I could vision myself rip open further away the skin, through the membrane, and cracking, like an eggshell, inverting myself – freeing myself.

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While the rest of us were like moths flying pitifully to the light, she was
content in fluttering to the beauty of what the light illuminated.

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You could speak of delicate random perfections of snowflakes like some church choir schoolboy lying in bed with his boxing gloves on – but she was a blizzard that tore new dimensions as she bridged the gap between fantasy and reality, distorting my sense of time and warping my concept of space.

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…trapped in limited shades of disfigurement, layered on layers of layers, spiralling through an existential daydream where neither I nor he nor they formed anything other than treason to reason

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Requiem furnished flood in blood – cometh, nothing, but singular thud

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Notebook, pages fall – burdening ink – pages drink – like of blood as fibres link – words over words over words they sink. Vandalising every charge of reason, in a game of logical treason, like just another, and another, and another curve round a curve of never-ending curves. Temporal contractions, time in fractions, layers of reactions, pluses and subtractions, a pulse of present, and past, and future. A theory of B theory of a wiggly stringy spiralling thingy that goes round and round and round in a straight line! Tick tock tick tock ticky tocky fucking swinging pendulum, death! Clock! An abundancy of inconsistencies, they mock, screaming for assimilation, answers, theories, a man of many men infesting the head. Sense they gnaw, more and more! To whom listen? To whom me?

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I wake from a sleep I never have but never leave, surrounded by gods in which I don’t believe, as everything I do was what I did in denial, and everything I did I will do on trial. I wake from a sleep I never have but never leave, surrounded by a conscience only I conceive. As my hourglass lays smashed upon a floor of frost, I am cold, I am lonely, and I am lost.

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he tried a token of relation; a smile, a splintered exclamation of a blank shot, smile back she did not

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…a devilishly craving of ravenous need; a sordid thrust of lust, as rapist thoughts clawed her rationality leaving her nigh quivering and short of breath, as every dire pant became a traitorous teasing releasing steadily a flood flushing and crushing her down to a core of animalistic desire, want, and need, to rip, to claw, to take.

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…define winning before you throw the dice

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Its the Torturing Reminiscence on a past of divorced reaction
Awakens surging regret that beams Reflections in fraction
No follow Fascist Religion and I’m anarchist to Government
But the Cross that consorts fear casts a doubt on my judgement
With believe hostility aside along with my loathing of mankind
I am in-part apprehensive of What God’s jury will find?

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…such faultless modesty – she could wither a rose with its own envy

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She was looking at her phone again; she was always looking at her phone, tapping away, I knew not to whom she tapped. She liked to socialise online behind a personality she manufactured using parts she collected.

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I’ll start with suddenly, or just before suddenly, when a thunderous roar rumbled as a thread-like flash of light cracked and shredded the dark canvas that what was prior, a clear sky. Rain plummeted from the heavens like razor-sharp rocks, here I was, stricken within this shower of pitchforks

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