Revolving doors

an art dump for the cloud of anguish

[the-carpet-dust]

'i merely provided a body for you to hold' it gets ugly my hands tremor

in the absence of the blood moon i have dystopian visions of triangles and light

at times i could have been what people have expected of me but times have never been on my side i arrive late to the beginning of my own life because of bank queues and endless bureaucracy it left paper cuts on the side of my head a small hole through which all of my dreams now wither away into absolute obscenity

how nice it must have been to be persuaded by my own false self-confidence or control now laying here hands cold but one which i can't keep away i believe i was told, learned to believe (this) that i get impatient at the mouth-watering aspect of it my head an oven cooking my brain to goo

[the-carpet-dust]

excerpt from my diary, october 20th

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excerpt from my diary, 13th october:

most days are like this and they'll continue to be I don't feel the gravel underneath me can't comprehend it fully

[the-carpet-dust]

excerpt from my diary (6th october):

too many people flocking to crowds

I try to walk around

I keep my head down

I try to walk around

[the-carpet-dust]

excerpt from my diary, october 1st

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when it shines, it shines alright

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growing slowly but surely

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an accurate representation of life always

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something’s going on here alright

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a grown nigh filled with wonder

[the-carpet-dust]

she is working on a container of her sad and swollen sorrows all filled under instances of laughter sneaking creaks under her eyes smiled once, or possibly twice she hates rhymes and so do i but the smiling keeps me under a veil of disguise

[the-carpet-dust]

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recent feelings pt IV

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recent feelings pt III

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recent feelings pt II

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the economy of a wound

slipping into the layers of blankets how many to restore the heating in my building? 4 walls radiate damp moisture a funny reminder that things aren't good here yet.. or so I'm persuaded to believe by my father and many other peculiar creatures who ask when I'm arriving home while I'm standing next to them by now I should know: not moving on is meaningless

sleeping in a bedroom with no heating in February an effortless whim if you are used to living like this empty stomach sharp teeth your skin as all things adapt fear boils into laughter until once you enter someone else's home a whip of warmth splashing your forehead your cheeks flushed with dizziness the comfort of it makes you uneasy and this like everything is a metaphor

even though I finished the work 10 hours breathing patience for this tedium skilfully putting someone else's life in motion and was in turn paid in praise and freshly squeezed orange juice the delicacy of it marred by my tongue for the thought 'this is too many oranges for one person only' crept up in my mouth for the rim of my teeth

needless to say, I am not an eastern european boy in stained sweatpants disregarding his grandmother's ailments despite her pension being the last straw he is holding on to until eventually he finds a job in which every mistake means losing one finger to the metal gear of him chewing down his sorrow

I am not one, but every bursting heating pipe only contributes to the narrative

[the-carpet-dust]

recent feelings