falling apart in my bedroom
screaming at my head
skin sloughs off
on my back
fly up out the ceiling

they say
one in three diamonds
glow under ultra-violet light
maybe at some point
in my ultra-violet life
i will glow too.

turn me into text
perfect example of internal conflict
study me
for your exams
write an essay
"the author might be trying to say"
when you read my thoughts

i hope you pass
grade 9
tear apart my thoughts
analyse me

take creativity
brain matter,
find that somewhere
put it in the bowl

take bone
pain
sweat
blood and
tears
and place it in the bowl

take your hopes
and your dreams
and put them in the bowl

work towards nothing
your whole life wasted
take the hours you spent
put them in the bowl

sell your soul
if you have to
put the earnings
in the bowl

burn a library
a house
a puppet show
put the ashes in the bowl

blend until smooth, with water
or rough
or non-existent
or interdimensional

stare at your creation
and cry as it screams
begs
for it to end.
you're looking at yourself.

these aren't my hands
at least they don't feel like they are
I don't recognise my voice
or the name they call me
but I know it's mine

when I touch my leg
the hand feels like someone else's
I dig a hole into my arm
and I feel nothing

the world looks fake
flat, digital
incorrect reflections
correct imperfections
I try to fix it

we all talk
about the now
being in the know
knowing where to go
going where we already know

where is now?
geographically, not mentally.
where must i be
to be present
presenting the PowerPoint
my life on display
is it Jakarta? berlin?
baku, beijing or dublin?

how is now served to you?
any dietary requirements to be aware of?
hot or cold? or even, lukewarm?
is it customized to your liking?
or unaltered? half cooked?
medium rare?

do you tip the server
of your now dish?
or consume it
on your genetically altered past plate
with your fragile future fork
knowing when you're done
you'll pay the bare minimum?

when you purchase your now house
and live in it with your now wife
and now kids
with a cute now dog
will you wonder who lost their now
so you could have yours?

when i die,
i refuse to be a nameless grave
marked by a chunk of stone
in the earth

when i die,
i want flowers to be planted
over where i lay
so new life may grow from me

when i die,
i wish to be neat and pretty
a contrast to how i've been in life
frenetic and disorganised

when i die,
will i be remembered?
or will memories of me fade too soon?
and i will turn to dust
we will all slowly turn to dust

i ache
my heart begins to break
heavy with the weight
of my decision

a beautiful flower
a memento of me
memento mori
we know we will die
but life is so much brighter
without this fact

i refuse to be another nothing
just another person in the ground
flowers will bloom from my resting place
a garden just for me

they may try to destroy us
eradicate, eliminate, disconnect us
but even when we are nothing
our solidarity is our everything