ghost of a feeling

i
wake with a
fug in my back
brain

i sat
up last night, smoking
drugs and watching
music

i ate
sheets of salmon flesh drank
gallons &
glutted

i kept slipping
under, slouching my eyes
lolling into the back of my
skull

i now drink
black coffee and attempt
becoming
centered

something like a
ghost of paranoia is
licking at my
edges

(blue tongues)

sitting outside the air
reminds me of
simpler, happier
times

(do we not
remember how we
want?)

alone

mixing with the
race, that is the
human is
necessary

my
darkest days were spent in
isolation

the absurdity is
streatham common
streatham hill
forced laughter

perhaps
'people' don't
realize

or
they're
smarter than
me and

accept what they
need/ after
all where does
sophistical reflexion leave

one?
lopsided (alone)
f'k'd

when the close

i'm
up
alive
smelling the delicious spring
air undercut with
new-mown grass

all is
quite
delightful/ but for how
long? how long will i
survive
living the way i
do?/ i am a
chronic
alcoholic/ i drink
all
day, wine whiskey white star
till
i
collapse/ when i wake i
can't
recall
much/ i get
maudlin when i
mix
too
much/ and the bitch-cunt of it is
i
can't
stop/ alot of
freaks write about their
addictions as if they're
proud
of
them/ oooh i was shooting in my
groin
oooh well i had to get a rupturing
leper to shoot it in my
neck cause i sold my
hands / fucking
morons/ junkies are the most
tiresome people, as dull as
trainspotters but a
whole
lot
smellier