There was nothing that made him want to leave the house. The world seemed hostile and uninviting; waiting to trap and mock him. A life of action seemed to evade him, no matter how much he willed it into existence. There was nothing but his own mental landscape and how it quickly it turned on him. Unfavourable memories returning like they were on loop. He slept as much as possible; awakening only to eat or to chat with people he barely really knew on the internet. When he wasn't in his bed he could smell his bed inviting but sour. He distrusted those close to him, waiting for them to prove his paranoia to be true. He spent days pondering things of zero consequence and comparing himself to inconsequential  people.

If he bothered to wash at all; he sat in the bath looking at his kneecaps, trying to produce a thought that would change his circumstances. Transcendence and an existence outside of his own body and mind didn't seem possible. He was suffocated by the vividity of his own imagination coupled with his inability to overcome his own anxieties. When they came, social invitations were quickly turned down; the act of interaction and fostering relationships seemed superhuman. The task of leaving the house seemed herculean. He neglected his talents and watered his insecurities like plants until they were deeply weeded in his psyche. He ate infrequently; destroying a once taut and capable physique.

Varnished
Almost gleaming
A voice much like my own
In my head
A pale narrator
The cigarettes were a suprise but shouldn't have been
A photo, you are my age,
There is not much resemblance to speak of,
Seaside
Seagulls screeching witnesses
What passed from your lips
Conversations somewhere

****** are calcifying words,
the metronomic marching,
of the new world,
in utero,
Static will bring to bear,
the new frequencies
metallic angels
choking out their celestial messages,
ears deaf to the
shifting of the blood current,
gabbling gods computing
as the future is weaning.

Puppet-master
You flavour cooking with untruths
your teeth are roadside shrines to in-authenticity,

your mannerisms are that of a rogue aircraft controller
you are above all, a conceited individual.

devoid of humanity
a puppet-master without understanding.

lost in the shadows of your own ego
you are a slave to your own impulses,

a hissy fitting diva
you weaponise falsehoods.

creating division and disorder
you never take responsibility and look to deceive

you are full of simulated pomposity
you are 6 foot odd of nowt.

My granda snored as loud as a shotgun going off
in a silent film,
called us tossers,
cooked us food,
picked us up from school,
was a source of joy,
set us right,
but never gave us thick ears,
in his finals weeks,
he took the time,
to tell me all he knew.

A strange kind of intrusive ambiance; voices in several languages, forced laughter, technological functioning; human activity intermarried with machines. The volume rising perfectly in sync with my cortisol levels, I interrogate  my past for signs of the path that led me here; it remains blurred. I did not dream of working in customer service; but here I am regardless, moments of my life that I will never ponder again; a cascade of  the present moment repeating as long as my employment contract exists. An event-less horizon, memories are stillborn here and true ingenuity stifled. There is much and nothing that has led me here. It is hard not to feel like a horse bred for performance in this place; everything is monitored, quantified, reviewed and collaborated. Performance reports produced with the fervor of medieval scholars translating the bible.  I look to the sky, what else is there to do; only to see smoke alarms and aesthetically neutral lighting arrangements. There is art work on the walls, but is generic, created to defy analysis. The colouring of the walls is chosen to exude a neutral sort of trendiness; on brand for the overarching corporate image.

Moans were heard at a distance,
there a point of separation
between deed and sound
untethered from chance,
dragged time is repeating,
beholden to a frail passage
in the eyes of the yielding sun.