Shitty wallpaper

I don't have any fascinating, positive stories to tell any of you. I mean when have I ever? I could tell you that tonight the delivery guy gave me free brownies, that I overcame my house binding anxiety, that I quit drugs yet again, that whiskey tastes nice at room temperature, that I found someone to co-sign the lease or that music is wonderful etc, etc, etc. But that isn't interesting and it's insignificant and if you're not ready for some more cop out whining you should press unsubscribe now.

I want to talk about loss and hatred and how much having no decent cigarettes is pissing me off.

For one, with loss, you think you've finally got a grasp on it, you think you've gotten an inch of acceptance. And then BAM, the dirt isn't gone, no, bam and you're back to square one and nothing makes sense and you can't even fathom, let alone accept what the shit has happened. The stuff we take for granted is amazing. It's a super cliche but it's so true, probably why it is so cliche, you seriously don't know what you have until it's gone.

Secondly, hate is ridiculous. The kind of hate where you just want to leap across the table and stab them 23 times in the throat but you don't, you smile and chit chat just because you want to make that moment of revenge all the more crippling and unexpected.

Third, I've been smoking my Dad's winfield blue tobacco for the past hour, it tastes horrific, but it's better than going without. I could buy my own, if I was 18 or at least looked it. If I want to kill my body with nice tasting tobacco I damn well should be allowed. Fuck you Kevin Rudd and all the rest of you pieces of shit up there in parliament, you fucks didn't even make this law, but seriously, fuck you.

Alice Practice

Scars, in you, son
You shrug it off
Except that you don't

Better, it surely
It don't fall out
Said,
I live low
I lisp, I die
Sugar shooting
Bled with dead beats
Only crawl
Your sad eyes
Quite christian
Blood

Drop it, it's dead
We drop it
and took the body home
Sad eyes

Scars, I'm chopping dagers
See you'll never walk
only stagger.
sad eyes
Quite christian
Blood

Sickly Dreams.

The sky was grey and green, suffocated by angry clouds. We looked out to sea and saw what seemed to be a sea container half emerged in the strange water. Sloshing fast through the water we reached it quickly, climbing inside we were mistaken, a wonderous structure had been built some fifty meters high. But just as soon as our attention had been grabbed by such a thing a projector had cast a film for us to watch on the wall. It happened to be Titanic. We watched in awe of the surprise. But something was off, the bodies started falling from the top of the structure into the water around us. Torrents of bodies.

Confused, we were suddenly rocketed to a platform at the top of the structure, above our heads was a small opening into god knows where. On this platform were all of our friends sharing drinks and cigarettes, so we stayed for a while until maddeningly intoxicated. Someone, I can't remember whom needed something of what I can't remember, so it was apparently up to me to go and get this thing, it was a matter of life and death. I was provided with the keys to a some mode of transport, I was told to climb through the hole above.

So I climb through, pulling myself up I am shocked by a futuristic landscape; a metalic tunnel of lights and car lanes. Then I see it. This car. Sleek and dark blue, the oddest shaped car I had even laid my eyes on. And gosh I was too drunk to drive. I stumbled over to the car and let myself in, it started with a high pitched hum. Entering the highway was intense, the power steering so sharp. The accelerator was so easy to push down. I lost control almost immediately, 1-200kmph in 12 seconds. Shit was flying everywhere. I was bouncing into other cars and the highway walls but no damage was being incurred to the car. I looked out of the window and realized I was in Cockburn. I needed to go there to get the thing. Whatever it was. So I turned off the highway and pulled into a car park, suddenly sober.

I got out of the car and was joined by another person, they had no face. Without we walked to the back of the car park into a complex of pensioner homes west units. We crept up to a particular unit and peeked through the window. It was grey inside and it appeared that the old woman was in the shower. We went to the back door and tried it. It was unlocked. We crept inside her home. Walking quickly we got what we needed from her kitchen. As we were about 6 feet from the back door she came out after us. We ran from her house, leaving the weird woman and her grey house behind.

Winfield Blue Tastes Like Shit.

It knots and twists and folds and rises and twists again. Preventing me from leaving the house. Stopping me from answering the phone. Anxieties cold talons are gripping me and refusing to relinquish it's hold. So that's when you get a knife, and cut it off at the source, cut it's fucking legs off and tear the talons from my flesh. She was the one that always tore me away from it's nasty grip. She's gone and I'm trying to learn to hold a knife. Trying to learn to live now. Each day it gets harder and I'm sure I'm forgetting everything I've learnt. Where are you now? I need you more than ever. Shock melts away like sugar in the rain. Now I'm left with this empty hole.

Missing

Magic looses it's momentum
Like fire on wet grass
The reality of death
Sinks in slow
Like a slow burn cigarette
Why should yours flat line
While my pulse remains
Pushing toxins to my finger
tips and blasting needless, numbing nothings
into my spinal suffering
I am a broken leaf nothing
Touch me with your eyes, limp and brittle on the pavement
Touch me with your fingers
I crack and crumble
Into nothing

Hurt

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disapear
You are someone else
I am still right here

What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

The bins that crash in the night.

Impulses don't lie.

From drunk drivers to match sticks the coincidences cannot be denied.

Muffled voices.

I just know.

Pyrokinesis, burning the butterfly.