I am a machine.
Caught out in the rain
The wire in my blood
Will cauterise and fail.
The electricity of reticence
Smokes over my eye
The slaughter of each thought
Congeals and will die.
The iron of awkwardness
Always shines through.
Belittling impressions of my mind to you
And what was it you said?
‘There is a certain satisfaction
Beyond such loss of control.
I am here
For you.’
I pulled the lever.
I switched off.
I never intended
To ever come back.
It was the only thing
I could control you see.
Imagine.
The conceit of it.
And myself a mere apprentice of life.
An arrogance of youth.
A belief in a marriage
Of destiny and art.
In short supply
To leave my own mark.
I cost out the silence.
I pull down the blind.
You think this is something
I want to see through?
To bury the hurt and the lies and what’s true.
Feeling insulated but for
An isolated spark
In the greenhouse of life
A tightrope and jumpstart.
With the closed fist of literature
My fingertips burnt
With the oil of desire.
The seat from my soul
Taken down and crushed
In the back of
A van out for hire.
My heart stopped dead
Is only a saying.
A flatline.
A stay of execution
From this stage to the next.
A short-circuit
A junction box
A fuse and reflex.
And what was it you said?
‘This recent restoration of reason and rhyme
Polished and so considered
Is a signal
A sign.’
I despair.
Do not think for one moment
I have forgotten how to die.
I simply choose now to ignore it.
I am a machine.
I remain disconnected for a reason.