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Payphones And Prostitutes

The payphone stood next to her
And from a distance
They were alike
And as she leant against it
She knew it too

Because she was in disrepair
An ornament for the empty streets
Left to waste and wait
Her sagging thighs could testify to better nights than this

But tonight she's not alone
Scrap metal potential by her side
And they were tired
Both waiting
For a passer-by to spare some time

They stood in silence
Because they'd long forgotten what conversations
Were meant to sound like
Or feel like
But they felt comfortable
Together.
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Sparks

Before the beauty interrupts us before the seconds spill and rush us 
leave me with the 
faintest breaths
and eyes
hidden behind the veil of skin

The echoes
of your heartbeat
stir the stillness
gently
and I don't dare to move

It's settling on
the far side of the room
I can see it
creeping 
towards us

Soon we'll be enveloped on this bed
soon
our skin will 
be coated by the trickling light
but I'll keep still if you do

to be encapsulated.
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Knots

These strands of thought are so deftly tied in my mind
Forming knots that I struggle to untie
Weaving lines behind my eyes
Like charmed cobras hypnotised 
And how I see is how I'm paralysed
Open eyes but I'm still blind
I'm not sad but they tell me to cry
So I cry.
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there should be a title for this

Screw eloquence. Here are my thoughts.

I'm disillusioned by it all. The materialism, the lack of curiousity, the blind faith, the seemingly content will of my generation to just sit back and accept everything at face value and be so carefully conditioned by their environment to not even bother searching for more meaning in their lives. We're destined for mediocrity and it's frightening that no-one seems to be that bothered.

I question everything. Life, faith, people, motives. You see, the more answers you receive, the stronger your thought becomes. Life is about finding meaning in anything and everything because without it there's nothing stopping you from jumping off a building with all the grace of a paper aeroplane. These questions lead you to meaning. It isn't about the answers, but the pursuit of answers that actually have any relevance in your lives. We grow up in a society where we're taught to accept unconditionally, to not challenge old ideas, to just fucking take it as it is. If you're wondering why, the answer simple. The ignorant are the obedient. We'll go through our insignificant lives with a strict process to adhere to. Work, sleep, pay. We become part of a cycle that heeds no benefit to anyone but those who control us. And it's this ignorance that is so prevalent in my generation, one that I feel nothing but shame for.

If you're reading this, you have internet access. Which means you have access to the largest collection of human knowledge ever compiled in the history of the fucking universe. Wikipedia is the most expansive encyclopedia known to man, yet its main use is to get that A you want for your assignment so you can get a degree so you can slave away your life just to survive. You can learn languages, skills, practically anything on the internet yet most choose to while away their time on images of kittens with horrifyingly incorrect text grammar-wise. I mean, I love kittens as much as any sane human being loves kittens but why stop at kittens when you have the whole world before you? Why. 

We're fed concepts and lifestyles of what is right and what is wrong through media, through celebrities, through fucking 9gag. The irony is, we're taught not to think for ourselves. All this information is there to create us because most aren't courageous enough to question why things should be so. All these brands, all these logos, they don't mean anything when they were made in sweatshops in China by the hands of desperate children just trying to survive. Or at least they shouldn't mean anything. But they do, and it's a pathetic excuse for humanity when people are sharing pictures on Facebook on world issues while using everything that they are publicly against. 

Religion just seems out of fashion too. You're seen as backward when you stand by your faith. It's made out as if religion only succeeds in limiting your intellectual capacity. I agree. I agree that anything limits intellectual capacity if you blindly accept it. You do things because 'God says so' but why does God say so, why are certain rules sent down, why do you think you can't ask these questions? 'God says so' is a reason I can't accept because it shows that you don't even have enough understanding in your faith to answer with a reasoned, logical answer that can be accepted in the wider scope of society. Question your own faith before you question faith itself.

I was in a class today on the philosophy and view of different ideologies towards the wider global climate. A couple of girls to the left of me were texting throughout the lesson. I lost count of those who fell asleep. Education is wasted. The man in front of me spoke with a wisdom that I've only ever seen rarely, but the people around me took it for granted. And it's fucking sad, you know. This complete lack of feeling towards learning. That As are just for your future, your job. It's there. Eleven years of free compulsory education and you waste it. Eleven years of information and thought that others around the world have no access to and you throw it away. Granted, education systems do have their flaws, but isn't it our duty to fix it? Instead you choose to let it all pass by you without gaining a single thing apart from the hardly laudable skill of memorising and regurgitation. Without even fucking knowing what you just wrote down. Well done.

Like I said, I'm disillusioned. I haven't even written all I think I could write but writing more could possibly lead me to an even more depressed state than I already am. 

At least things sound a little better with Explosions In The Sky in the background. 
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Nostalgia And Colour

A different day a different shade that wilts in colour
As this blind nostalgia guides me
The spectrum pales and I'm certain it'll only fade out into white

And the vivid lives we used to live
Are rather rushed and the colours merge
And blur and I can't make out anything but the streaks of what used to be

Lines across the surface not painted
Leaving us a kaleidoscope of hopes 
But they'll be blank and so will we chasing flickers before they dim.

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Defend And Attic

It was just a staircase. 

Empty, not because no-one was there, but because even passing by could leave you feeling dejected. Each step seemed carefully designed to be at every possible angle other than level. The bannister that ran along the side was marked with peeling white paint under the deep tone of the wooden hand rail. No-one ever used the staircase.

He wondered why. The boy was not more than six years old, seven at most. He possessed the dangerous quality of curiosity that all defenceless infants do until its worn away by the pitfalls of age and education. He regularly passed the staircase on the way to his bedroom. The house he lived in had been around for a few centuries, but he knew it as 'a very very very long time'. The staircase lay at the other end of the corridor of the top floor, a long stretch of stained carpets guarded by a number of pale, lifeless doors. The boy stared from the other end for a while. Stairs were meant to be climbed.

The dim lights gave a yellow hue to the walls. The boy walked on to the foot of the staircase. He looked up.There were about a dozen steps to clamber up before he reached the top. He clambered up. One by one, each step was conquered. He reached the top.

He was met by a door unlike the rest in the house. It was a deep shade of red, with intricate patterns chiselled into its surface. It was majestic, so unlike the stairs that cowered before it.

The boy wondered. He wondered where it led to. He wondered why no-one else went up here. He wondered a lot. While he wondered, the door creaked softly and opened. Heavily, like an aged man sighing as he rises from a chair. All he could see was dark. He walked in.

The door closed.
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Strawberry And Mirrors

She sees herself
In the mirror
A violent beauty
She knows will wither

Her eyes meet hers
Reflecting age
And all the remnants
Of younger days

The strawberry kisses
That she had given
To nameless faces
To motives hidden

The sour regrets
That she still tastes
Between her lips
Make her grimace

And all she knows
Has been distorted
And all she sees
Are through thick glasses

She takes her place
Upon her bed
And on her pillow
She rests her head

And without thinking
Her eyelids drop
Her heartbeat slows
To a final

Stop.
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Island And Door

He was standing on the middle of a creaky wooden platform raised by four beams which seemed to be playing a game of who could sway the most. A larger, sturdier beam stood next to him. A rope dangled off it, gently brushing against his shoulder as if to comfort him. He felt comforted.

He looked out, still, and surveyed his surroundings. They were coloured by these grey clouds just waiting for the moment to spill. They would wait some more. It was only a few short steps, near enough, and he knew he shouldn't rush it. "Enjoy the moment", he told himself.

His eyes glanced lower to the sea of faces that surrounded him. They were on the brink of drowning him, like waves upon a shore, only reflected by the promise of retribution. He smiled. He felt powerful here, atop this swaying platform, observing the faces of fear, of anger, of disgust. He could feel the growing energy amongst the crowd below him, as if they were praying with a form of negativity and it charged him and he felt alive, more than he'd ever been. More than he thought he could feel.

He felt godly.

Poseidon, controlling the oceans before him. He took one step forward. Then another. Then one more. They wrapped the rope comfortably around his neck and he was willing to let it rest there. He looked around, directly in the eyes of scorn and rage. He smiled.

They pulled the rusty lever and the trapdoor gave way as he fell into satisfaction.
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Coffee And Walls

The wall was looking at me. I was only looking back.

It stared at me intently, like it had something it desperately wanted to share with me. A secret shame of some sort. I waited for it to make a move. It didn't. I couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed but I had to remember that it was a wall. They weren't used to these sorts of things.

I sat behind a metal table in a chair so worn that leaning back posed a health hazard. The wall still wasn't saying anything so I took the liberty of examining its features. A large family portrait hung on the left upper corner, displaying three sombre faces of people who obviously didn't enjoy having to wait three hours for the paint to merge into what I was seeing now. Behind them spread a mustard based wallpaper with sharp, scarlet lines running vertically to the floor. Or to the ceiling. It didn't matter. The wall still wasn't talking to me. I decided to take a different approach. A change of tactic, if you will.

I offered the wall coffee. 

I could sense the wall being slightly suspicious of my new approach, and cautiously declined. I won't lie, it was a very disappointing response. No matter. This wall would speak eventually. I took a sip of the boiling hot cup of that dark, bitter drug before throwing my arm forward and spilling the contents directly onto the wall's face. It kept silent. 

I wish these walls would talk. 
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Paradox And Vinegar

Keep me in your maze I'm lost but I want to be
The walls keep the world out and me within
This is a choice unlike how we
Never did choose if we wanted to be free

And keep me ensared as the walls lead me on
To a vinegar fountain that Chance chanced me upon
I'll beg for a wound a gash a cut where there is none
And bathe in this pool as they heal to be undone

The sun is wild and it should separate
From ever caressing my hair my skin 
And let me freeze in the heart of this maze
As the ice blankets slowly over my veins.
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Death And Bubblewrap

I need people, or friends as some might say. I don't feel like I deserve to call them friends but that's how they would appear to most. I use them as a shield. It's that shelter; that comfort of having a safety net to fall back on, to protect me from harsh realities like death and no internet connection. People are my bubble wrap.

Assurance; to be wrapped in the safe confines of a thousand air-filled pockets that individually, are as fragile as me. I feed off of that comfort, not as an addiction, but as a condition. Life enjoys my weakness. Life is that little child who runs over to me as I'm unboxed, pops the breath out of my safety and takes it all away. One by one, life kills them. 

They're all dying and this fragility is starting to frighten me.

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