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Euan Dixon Aug 2015
It will seep into every fibre of your being.

Soon the Autumn Rain, the nights in the empty parking lots,

They will all become blurred
Splotched and stained

*The ink of my regression
Euan Dixon Sep 2015
I was in a car crash two years ago. Fell asleep behind the wheel.
In the morning, all I could help thinking, was that if dogs go straight to heaven, there must be a reason why cats have nine lives, as if Saving Grace allowed for eight more chances of redemption.

8. It was a frayed wire beneath my feet. An old friend, knocking on my door. As I stepped forward, I felt the hard embrace of cold fury. Blue light coursing through me as my veins spouted fire, the feeling, like the bite of a needle. I watched as my eyes opened like Lazarus, so close I could touch it, this power, the thrum of a muscle car.

7. Seven is never as close as we like, and with Seven days until Sunday, my rest, is not yet at hand. Seven, is not quite Heaven and lasers just aren't as fun when you have seven thousand volts coursing through you. Muscles contract to a shape so obscene.

6. As this count down clock ticks past I find myself desperately searching for a way out, a green wire that I can cut, freeze myself in this moment and retain some dignity. It’s hard not to realise with a giant six stuck on your forehead that your hair, and your appetite are both commodities that are slowly being embezzled away. Lock your doors for time steals everything from you. Hide your face before you lose your smile and each time you look into the mirror, take heed that this might be your last, don’t be surprised when you forget the colour of your eyes. It’s funny, that this titanium armour of numbers can be so easily chipped away, it was nothing but a puddle this time. So much liquor poured down my throat, it only took a little water to close it off.

5. When should I understand that life isn’t guaranteed yet? Am I completely out of my mind to ignore grace and drive blind? My arm, after repetitive failures, reaches out into the night, trying to grasp hold of a lifeline. Supplicating the Sky, pleading it to save itself from me.
The only difference between an addict and the one who is drowning is that the one who is drowning knows it.  I will drink the sea until I become it. Lighthouse beacons glisten on the shore, these streetlights blur past me to yank sleeping eyes from attending the oncoming traffic.

4. I’m beginning to see this dance for what it is. Serene in my confidence I have done this act before, played superman for so long, kryptonite has no affect on me. I breathe in the rush, the adrenaline pumping, fear shooting from my fingertips. How can I not be blessed when I know the euphoric glory of Zeus’ bolts?
Lightning struck the fear of God into my system.

I guess I wasn’t fearful enough.
The next day Death issued a warrant for the vehicle I was driving. An eighteen wheeler driving past me, thank god for anonymous bail outs, blown rubber wrapping around the axle a semi and a snow bank of uncertainty reminding me that I only have two lives left. It’s amazing just how graceful Grace can be crashing, with no safety net. A 4,000 pound pirouette pulled to a stop by a curb. I don’t know how much longer I can play this game of Roulette.

I’m sick of being this dying star hanging in the nightscape. I want to shine again.
To learn what it’s like to love un-encumbered. To look in the mirror and see my own face, to know that we may have nine lives, and one chance.

And now I get it, with headlights approaching, that dogs may go straight to heaven but we cats, must earn our place.

And I pray, that before I reach ten in vain, my guardian angel, might throw away her abacus.
Euan Dixon Aug 2015
To hold a view, of sound not sight
The rustling calls, of an inward light

To travel among stars, lost but free
Rise to the call of the voiceful sea
Euan Dixon Jul 2015
We used to know each other, you and I.
We were close, it feels like an age gone by.

I was never one for poetry, well, at least not back then.
If you saw me now, perhaps you'd see why I hide
beneath a ball point pen

— The End —