Change is an unnatural state, we’re fickle slabs of metal, purpose built cars refusing to be taken consciously by the crusher at the scrapyard. Yet as the metal contorts and writhes you’ve got to wonder is the damage eternally irreversible? The past collides with the present, I’m watching the future float out of eyesight, like … Continue reading Scrapyard
Oh baby, this is just so prophetic and emblematic
Sit back and imagine that in this very moment, the most important thing you’ve ever had to do is take one or the other off their ventilator. An undeniably nauseating choice, intrinsically intertwined with egotism, you could argue. One dies, another lives, so on and so forth * or alternatively you could flip the script … Continue reading Oh baby, this is just so prophetic and emblematic
The exit on your left leads to your mother’s uterus
I’m sat down and then with a screech it all comes out; Ben, we’re bored of all that tits and ass business. This is 2020! We want adventure, a space opera, with fluffy bears. Oh, we want great medieval dramas at war for the very freedom you have. Well fuck you. Maybe tits and asses … Continue reading The exit on your left leads to your mother’s uterus
Ambivalence is the key
Welcome back to the shitshow. I'll finger you like it's our last night out at McCooley's. My head swirls with liquor stained imagery. I can't tell what's real and what's not anymore. It's a postmodern existential crisis at its finest. If one more person takes a crap selfie, gives it a shit caption and slaps … Continue reading Ambivalence is the key
Britain’s going to fall, so let’s make it sexy
They're going to raid Downing Street, lop off some heads, then paint a Westminster primary school with Johnson's blood and use Corbyn's entrails as decoration for a new communal area. I've got no problems with this brutal outcome. Hang Rothko's art on the new walls of a fallen England. The world's going down in flames. … Continue reading Britain’s going to fall, so let’s make it sexy
My reputation precedes me
My life is a swirling, disorienting mess. I hate myself. I'm wounded from the past like the rest of you. Coming to terms with the moment isn't getting any easier. I'm yearning for death. The morality of continued existence poses itself as a defeatist conundrum. Sure you could have it all, but sooner or later … Continue reading My reputation precedes me
My bad
All good things come to an end. There's a time limit on it all. I've broken hearts and I've had my heart broken. There's been no right or wrong either time. There's some good, some bad. I just wonder where the worth we once had for one another sits by the end of it all. … Continue reading My bad
Intravenous malformation
The precipe of the good and the bad has been disfigured beyond recognition. There's a beaten child in the corner crying for some humanity. It's arguable cancer will take them before suicide. Their Dad left for a pack of smokes, rumour is he isn't coming back. There's little to care about when these might just … Continue reading Intravenous malformation
Poem: Virginal
Blistering loss, sobering realisations, the white sterility of the bone which protrudes from the skin. She gets on top riding his cock Death grows Death consumes Death ruminates Sex Sex Sex A wounded body Chewed out lust Vile pain Scratch marks galore. She grinds like a convulsing junkie A drop of blood is drawn as … Continue reading Poem: Virginal
If you’re going to sit on my face, I may as well just be your man
Violence in the streets, degradation in the sheets. "Mr. Brizell get a bloody hold of yourself. This soul of yours is in ruins. There's talk of your sickening behaviour, unrepentant sefishness and wild romancing. We want your head" My sunglasses are askew and I've misplaced my heart down a grimy alley. All in all the … Continue reading If you’re going to sit on my face, I may as well just be your man
Ben Brizell 