Porcelain

This world of things and junk and words and the empty air we leave in the spaces we used to be.

All this junk. All this complete fucking junk, plastic glass and aluminium, silicon and porcelain. This collapsing empire of junk, useless fucking junk. And the howling space we leave behind us when we go.

I don’t know what life is any more, I don’t know what life means, or the why and reason to all the sorrow and grief and regret, and all the effort for nothing, for nothing but the howling empty space we leave when we go. And well meaning friends and kind strangers with no fear for the future and a million distractions in junk say the real treasures are the friends we make along the way without a fucking clue how it looks from the bottom of the pile, of all this junk and broken porcelain and glass.

I want to walk, you know? Walk out of this shouting boorish world of money and praise and all the tat we owe each other, all the ladders we’re told to climb the ways we’re told to get ahead and you can tell me it’s not really important but if so then stop playing the fucking game and go walk, go walk from your job from your home from all the planet destroying junk you use to distract yourself from the howling empty space that’s left at the end of the world. You won’t. You won’t because you cling to this trash like flotsam at sea, kidding yourself that it can save you from the cold black forever below.

I want to walk. Walk away from my burning past and sinking future, just walk, out, and forget you all forget this all, this garish world I never asked for, this wreckage and wasteland, set fire at last to the whole junk pile and walk away, and become nothing more than the howling empty space at the end of the world, the silence in the cold black forever below.

This hurts, you know? Down in my soul where I used to keep my hopes and future self. I don’t think you appreciate just how much this just. fucking. hurts.

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One thought on “Porcelain

  1. Pingback: On recovery | Explosions in Slow Motion

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