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
Today’s dance floor
Honey, pull me down to the floor. Lick my face with your lust and tell me all your secrets. Fuck me senseless. Ride me like it's the morning after the apocalypse and we're the only survivors. Sure I've been around the bend and back again in just my underwear and loafers, but at the end … Continue reading Today’s dance floor
Abused bodies and dead bloody poets
Reality stagnates and fractures, the guts of humanity pour onto the cobbles we sway down. Now here I am staggering down some decrepit streets. Bleeding profusely and trying to make sense of what it means to be loathed in the moment. You can exchange as many words as you want, but it seems no matter … Continue reading Abused bodies and dead bloody poets
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
Perineum
The scene has been set The curtains have been drawn Here we are: yet another generation shipwrecked upon the worst of times. Fucks sake that sounds far too cliche. It appears like every other nihilistic introduction. Yes, yes we all know we’re fucked, but we never quite manage to capture the panache of existing alongside … Continue reading Perineum
Poem: Post A-levels existentialism
Something’s gone wrong folks, the bottle’s empty, I’m as loaded as the gun Hemingway killed himself with was. It wasn’t meant to end up this way, Halfway west of my final resting place in a creased suit gasping for air outside a dusty road stop, stuck in Neverland. I could have been an indie darling … Continue reading Poem: Post A-levels existentialism
THE BRUTAL FUCKING AGONY OF EXISTENCE
She leaves loving, lustful marks on my neck and body, the kind that attracts glances. I bathe in the acidic aftermath of attention I take a drag on the insolent apathy of the people around me. I settle into the bed Culture made. The world doesn’t need another white guy bemoaning society's and the world’s … Continue reading THE BRUTAL FUCKING AGONY OF EXISTENCE
To play the part
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 … Continue reading To play the part
Ben Brizell 