Slaughtered souls; the immolated masses pour forth from the carnal abyss,

Stripped, abused bodies, cascading forth bringing their tragedy into the clinical hell of illusion.

Here we are looking inwards.

The world coalesces in spiteful furore.

I’ve checked out of the hotel and settled in at the therapists.

‘Oh Mr. Brizell, that girl with the cigarette hanging out of her mouth, the cleavage, the dyed hair, the rebellion, is she with you?’

I bite down on the past. I’m rewriting the heinous acts. The cynical soul struggling to keep his hand steady in the moment.

I’ve drowned in pussy before, it’s overrated.

I’ve sought the ides of the self, i’ve found only alleys of death, and far too many victims of abuse.

I looked into the horror, and became painfully drenched with awareness of the horrors and struggles of those done wrong by the people that owed them sanctity.

A man with promise, falls victim to the greatest lies, told by the greatest auteurs who ever lived.

The constant writing, every memory jotted down. The terrible child encapsulated in all his horrific glory.

Truth be told, I’ve always known who I was. I’ve grown up with the ages. The process came like every other, dragged through it by the stature of inevitability.

I raise a glass outside the cemetery, and the skeletons sing a nihilistic jingle.

Death’s a commodity in a life where you can immortalise yourself with the press of a button.

The endless technological river that we float down: instagramming, blogging, the pornographication of middle class Britain. Sexualise yourself and the day you do you’ll find validity. They sang that song to the youth.

We got nice and drunk on it, what else did we have?

It’s adulthood now. Serious relationships. Nudity no longer an affront to morality. Fucking is as casual as washing your hands. The promise of what once was special, abolished by the truth of advancing time. Fuck today, Fuck tomorrow, Fuck any day. The intimacy of it never grows old.

I’m tired, how are you?

Technology and all its glory gets me going.

One moment

is all it takes to reach the big leagues

One split second decision.

It’s been a long night, daybreak ushers in only more insanity

and thus

Dawn comes forth.

2 thoughts on “To play the part

  1. You’re absolutely brilliant. This is phenomenal and terrifying in all the ways it provokes my brain. The images you paint and the depths of societal underbelly you’re reach are just… amazing. I could read your work all day.


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