When I am dead, reclaim me
When I am dead, our earth
Though it will be mine, no more
Will reclaim me
It will have my body
Like hyenas, upon my empty carcass
Or crows, on battle fields
I shall cease to be
My body will be of the earth
Because in these, once, the vessels of our opinion and our prejudice
Are things, that allow
For one more day
One infinitesimal second
They allow, the earth, to limp on
Existing, decaying
For one day longer

Human existence is a detritus of emotion and we seek to immortalise that. I see the beauty in scratching your name into a ruined castle. So something of you remains. Scars remain but kisses don't. I would write my name on big bens face to be the man who did.

Live each day knowing you may die. Drink, eat, spend. Enjoy life with the sole goal of pleasure. Go out like a firework. Whether you illuminate the world for others or catch them in the blaze it doesn't matter.

I saw the long green grass, mown down
It fell, lifeless and dead
And I wished, how I wished
I were the grass, instead
The grass has never, hurt a man
Or made a person cry
I have done both these things, and more
It is I who should die

This pain, this ache
Within my chest
It hurts me, I wish, I could rest
I would take, for any price
A moment's peace, a restful night

Coffee cups and ink stained hands
Half finished thoughts, part written papers
Aching, craving, sentiment
A purple book, so innocent
Chronicling an atrophy
Of soul

Another glass of whisky, and I'm staring at the door
Asking myself questions, I've never asked before
Because now, I know, that it's okay
To talk about what's in my head
Now I know its normal
To sometimes wish I were dead
I'm writing like I'm running
Out of time, or away
Often, I'm doing both, on any given day
I've pledged to live a life of pleasure
Perhaps I'm out of touch with reality
Maybe, I'm just accepting, my own grim, mortality
I thought that I was golden
I thought the sun was out
Maybe it's just mood swings
Or a mood merry go round

I am floating, drowning
In a *** dream
Words float, about me
Out of reach, as I am out of touch
Here and there, a wanderer
But I do not call to them
I see them, they try
To mend nets, to close the holes
Retain some of the cosmos
That slip through
I hear their low, anguished moans
Moving through, a dream of dreaming
Clocks, melting into a pool of abstract
As time itself ceases to believe
I wake, clocks are solid
The universe is not running
Reality reigns again

The grass is wet
Drops of rain, clinging
To each lolling blade
Like minute universes
Trees, all purple, like a swollen bruise
Or overripe fruit
Bit into, to cascade juices down
The chin of one, who sups upon
The pulpy flesh
And drinks, the juice of life
I fade, and flicker
Far away, and held fast
By that simple majesty
I see in nature
In this wet grass
I see, time's endless passage
Emerald green, vibrant grass
Here, and there, is scattered
All about, with leaves
Withered, brown, old
Marking time's voyage onward
Ravaged, by the passing moments
They do not even blow
Or flutter in the wind
As they did when they
Were green, on summer day
But rest, or are all dead
And will not stir
For what might stir now
The old and decayed
No touch of green upon them
Nay, they will not stir

In this empty space
Sitting on my bench
I am acutely aware
That I am alone
How long then
Since I felt
The fiery confusion, of fumbling kiss
Or many small ecstasies
Wrought by another's hand?
How long then since
In some shared space
With precious little between
Yet still we tried
To close any space
And in this, there was
Fire, and ice, calm, and excitement
How long then, since?
I cannot recall