What’s Different About Today

Nothing, it’s all a social construction. Nilhism comes second. I’m tired, Barnes says I’m fed up, but I’m not. I’m just lonely, lonely with a home. Home is where the criticism is. Through ether and Ash. I escape twice. I say I won’t… when my home is my own… I say… criticsm is infectious. That may be my addiction, I asked my best friend if I was a good bad friend, to improve… Ensuite anxious regret. I’ve justified paranoia. I’m right!

But I degress from the day, today. I find myself on my way. An unconscious decision aroused from a fuck it & go and an arriving tram.

…Today?

It is.

It just

is.

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An Empty Pen

My words are shouted at midnight,
love and anger laboured
on unseen paper.
I die
my face unknown to light’s eye.

For whom do I aspire
to see my words?
to rescue eyes and ink cast earthward?
to validate muted loves?
to love
me?