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trans, nerd.

Month

December 2015

Some Years Long Enough

We threw caution to the wind
And I lost her
As a breeze
A terrible breeze
Stole her
And now
A handful of years
Plentiful years
I still have her
A better friend than a lover.

Fortnight

Day fourteen the closest by far,

Post-festive weight stretches

The armour to weakening.

Stir crazy to a Nick Cave soundtrack,

Almost cracked but carried through

By ships and weeping.

 

That Which Begins

By the birch tree we started,
Bloomed and lost ourselves,
Forgot to watch ourselves,
Cost ourselves,
Dearly.
Dearly beloved,
We gathered as did the storm
Which shattered and crashed
And struck the birch.
By the burnt tree we parted.

6 Days In

Withdrawn and shaking,
Pale and lost,
Outside, outside,
Hold up the lie.
The weather is fine
I’m fine
I’m fine.

The House at the Top

The twinkles blinked on the window’s cracks, a Christmas fractal leering at the the top of the street just before the alleyway.

The house faces north, the mildewed hovel that looms and frightens the local children, a hallowe’en rumour of grim deeds past and lost to time. 

Now it is December. The festive decorations lend the house a twisted glamour, some extra light to make the dark places the darker, the holes in the windows blacker than death and cold.

The front door was open, I went in.

The Future is Assured for All

“Why me?”
The gaunt man raised an eyebrow.
“Oh.”

Evening Commute

Today I was that bedraggled shuffled,
Singing songs in the street
Which were never meant to be heard,
Yet were.

At The Gate

I have bad news, you’re to go to the lower place according to,

The lower place? But I always cared for my fellows, known and unknown, for my entire span,

Yes but you’re guilty of not caring for all,

How can one possibly care for all?

That is not my concern, it is your guilt on this matter which casts you downwards,

Because I feel guilt for not helping everyone, I am to spend my time in that place?

That’s the shape of it, yes,

But that’s insane,

No, its the only fair way to judge a person’s life, against their own conscience,

But what of the sociopaths? The business men who’s only guidance through life was their own personal wealth?

Oh, this place is full of those people. Mass-murderers too, 

Surely that should be enough to cause a rethink of your conscience-based entry policy,

You’d think so, but our guidance comes from higher – the bureaucracy comes from there too,

This higher place sounds like Hell,

I wish it was, that place is full of people like yourself, those who judged themselves too harshly for not being perfect,

You’d rather be down there?

Wouldn’t you?

I suppose so,

Then I have good news.

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