I want the love
familiar chords promise
as I smoke by the windowsill
and think about quitting.
Hair doused in seawater
and drying out in the sun,
a conjured reality suffices
to salt my food, to revive my senses.
I want the love
of an angry mob,
revolution on every tongue
and violence never far from the centre.
The removal of myself
from society coincided with my brief insanity
and I should say that I am never coming back.
I want the love
that remains after that.
In the absence of Jesus,
in the absence of Fact.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
I want the love
familiar chords promise
as I smoke by the windowsill
and think about quitting.
Hair doused in seawater
and drying out in the sun,
a conjured reality suffices
to salt my food, to revive my senses.
I want the love
of an angry mob,
revolution on every tongue
and violence never far from the centre.
The removal of myself
from society coincided with my brief insanity
and I should say that I am never coming back.
I want the love
that remains after that.
In the absence of Jesus,
in the absence of Fact.
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