I’m outside the submarine
watchin’ you through circle windows
As I drift inside my own quarantine
I’ve seen the most terrifying fucking things
Living in the depths with me
I’m no Frankenstein
Till I see you, in your yellow submarine
Down here I can be ugly like the anglerfish
When I smile, I’m all fangs and teeth
But I see my reflection
When you all harbour resentment
Blinking behind submarine windows
I’m trying to become Bioluminescent
Can you see me in the dark yet?
I’ve evolved to be this ugly
Do you care to see the horror
That is me?
Author: Matt
Monsters
Puddles harbour reflections
In black and white photographic hue
Reminds me back when I
When I thought I loved you
But I paused just a little bit
Let the dots roll past
And now it’s all gone
My moment of victory came to pass
And I did not, I did not drink that glass
It was an imitation of
The finest wine
Said to be the blood of
Jesus Christ
Well I said, I don’t believe
Let me take my bow and leave
I don’t believe in sin
Just some people who sunk within
Trying to show scars without
Cuz no one cares unless you bleed and shout
If only we had eyes
In each others minds
But we’d only want to shut each other out
Because there is no peace
When you know they don’t scream
But the pain still seeps within
There is no shroud
To smother it out
No curtains can be drawn
To cast any doubts
You just live in your own
Little terror house
While the fire burns
Everything down
And I thought I saw
Hopeless in his eyes
But it was just a glimmer of hope
And I know that, much like a butterfly
It’ll whizz past in the blink of an eye
He’s better hopeless
With you and I
Staring into the abyss
With the monsters
That we missed
Gutter
Dark clouds are brewing up a storm
While we brew our beer
We’re gonna get pissed
Before the filth sees us here
In agony and irony, we roll our tobacco
Yellowing our nails
Before they take us back home
Shipping us off to goodness knows where
Cause goodness is like God, it ain’t even here!
I’ve got a mean streak
without the spear
I’ll grab you by your hair
and clip you around the ear!
In a newsboys hat
Looking all dapper and queer
Because it’s how I roll
My marijuana …*ahem* tobacco
And the heavens are opening up
The storm above our heads
While the pigs chase us down town
We got suits on! You can’t run fast
Without creasing ironing
Lord, thank our mothers
She’s gonna have a fit when she sees us here
“Shoulda shipped you off all those years.” She’ll mutter
And we’ll walk downcast into the gutter
Cause goodness is like god!
It ain’t fucking here!
Sex & Smoke
Sex & smoke
Dazzled us in clouds
Of champagne
Frothing at our feet
Admitting defeat
Already on our knees
Taking it
Melting in the moment
Breathing in the decay
Of innocence
Wrapped around our skin
Peeling in layers
Letting it all out from within
No inhibitions
Just naked oceans
Of forbidden lust
Under a fever
Our minds, we can no longer trust
As we go in for the final thrust
Less hope for you yet.
Calloway pushed the blade further into the ground with the step, leaning his body to use all his weight, “ya know,” he started, grunting, “what your problem is?” a cigarette bobbed up and down between his thin lips as he spoke
Max watched the blade cutting into the earth, “What?” He asks, arms folded.
“Ya still holding out for hope.”
Max cocked his head to one side, “Having hope is my problem?” He scoffed.
“Uh huh.” Calloway grunted and leant into the handle, “Let that hope go, boy.” He flicked ash onto the earth beneath his feet, embers flickered orange and then gave up.
Max disagreed, shaking his head. “A bit of hope is what a man needs.”
“Nah, Max.” Calloway let the shovel drop down to the ground with a thud, and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, “We all die in the end.”
“Morbid.” Max rolled his eyes.
A flicker like the embers from his cigarette sparked in Calloway’s eyes for a moment, “What do ya think I’m doin’ ‘ere? Digging for goddamn gold?”
Max looked at the hole Calloway had been digging and sighed with irony.
“The world needs the hopeless.” Calloway drawled on, taking a swig from his bottle of water.
“The world needs more hope, that’s what it needs.” Max said adamantly.
Calloway waved Max’s words away casually, “This world is just a big cosmic joke.”
“Well I for one,” Max dug the toe of his shoe into the ground with an irritated kick, “think there is something more to all this.”
“Something more? Something more than what?”
“Than this!” Max gestured with his hands open in front of him, signifying everything.
“You know why the world is a cosmic joke?” Calloway asked, picking up the shovel again and heaving the blade back into the earth.
“Because it’s all a big accident, blah blah. You’ve told me all this before.” Max faked a yawn.
“There is irony everywhere.” Calloway said matter of factly.
“What are you on about, Cal?”
“There is more hope to be found in the hopeless.”
Max scowled, “That makes no sense!”
“Exactly.”
Letting go of Hope.
I remember as a teenager standing on the top of a grassy hill, In the woods out the back of my parents house. I went there with friends and I went there alone. You could see the train tracks and watch steam trains on a Sunday. I remember this land being there before my eyes, and old couples that walked past would comment on the beauty. “What beauty?” I always thought silently. Because as the steam trains rattled past, and the birds chirped their way to sexy time, and the worms dug their way in the soil and pooped out nutrients after eating up the autumn and winter debris, nothing, absaloutely nothing could quench my lack of thirst for life.
And now? Now I wish I never saved myself. I wish I didn’t go to hospital for treatment. I wish on that fateful night that my self harming got found out that I didn’t say a word about feeling unwell, that I remained tight lipped. I simply wish I let go, that I never tasted water and found thirst. The raw pain persists, and when I think I’ve purged it all out it comes back or something new just as intense, or more intense comes along and punches me in the stomach. Thirst or no thirst the pain persists. If I could turn back time, I’d kill myself long before I had a glimpse of hope. Hope and I don’t get along, I know she’s a lie and yet I try to keep in some sort of relationship with her. No matter how distant we seem to get.
Its time I let hope go. We can’t work. I don’t like her friend chance, I’m too much of a coward.
I, the coward
It is through cowardice
That I wake tomorrow
There is no bravery in my step
I only take sidesteps
I wasn’t ready when I was born
I think that’s why my heart was already torn
Even from the womb I knew
I couldn’t be what you do
Gutless from the day I drew breath
Seeking courage
“I saw him in the shadows, Sir.”
The man Scar spoke with had alcohol on his breath, fingerless gloves on his hands and his dirty fingers shook and poked at the wall they stood beside. “I saw him a few times, I should have followed. But, I never could be that man, Scar.”
Scar was named so because the entirety of his left face was scarred round the edges of a tablet screen. The tablet screen just looked to have been shoved into his face willy-nilly, but it was surgically put there. His face constantly glowed on that one side, the screen full of scratches and cracks. This was the only source of light for the two men as they stood in the alleyway between the pub and the backs of poor filthy houses. “I was supposed to follow.” The man repeated, shaking even more. “I couldn’t do it.” A tear streamed down his dirty face.
“The truth is we chose the Devils way.” To prove his point, he scowled over at the street sign that read, ‘Djinn Avenue.’
“He was God, and we could have followed.” The man bellowed.
“God isn’t that powerful, neither is the Devil. It’s just Good and Bad. Beauty VS ugly. Dark VS light.” Scar said.
“You deny the shadow we saw in the mist?” The man asks, wiping a tear from his eye.
“I don’t deny the shadow. I deny his power.”
“Is that why you didn’t follow him upstairs?”
“I’ll go upstairs when I damn well want.” Scar’s face appeared to glow all the brighter as the irritation showed itself in his stance, and the other side of his face grimaced.
“You said you couldn’t be like him, that you wished you were.”
“The shadow is courage I never had.” Scar says sadly, “The shadow is only God because I never had the courage to go upstairs.”
The man started to pace, “I’ve seen the obscure man, the one with the…”
“Mirror?” Scar asked knowingly.
“Yes.”
Scar smiled for the first time, “Both the Shadow and the obscure man have mirrors.”
The man looked dumbfounded, “There are no mirrors upstairs.”
“The mirrors only show us what they want us to see.” Scar said matter of factly, almost like he’d rehearsed that line.
“What,” The man’s voice shakes a little, “What happened to your face?”
Scar smiled, but it was a smile upheld by sadness, “I wanted to be emotionless. I tried to become a robot.”
He laughed, “Insane, right?” He pointed to his glowing face.
“I can’t say it’s anything other, I’m afraid, sir.”
“I thought I could follow God easier as a robot.”
The man lit up a cigarette and looked at Scar, took the sight in as he inhaled a big hit of smoke. “You talk in a very confusing way. Do you believe in God or not?”
“God is merely a word that is interchangeable. God isn’t some spirit in the sky, it’s not some creator, it’s not what we’ve been taught.”
“What is God then?”
“God is an anthropomorphism of courage, of kindness, of natural events that bring joy.”
“So who or what is the Shadow?”
“The shadow is who we wish to be. We don’t follow the shadow actually. We become him, and he ceases to be a shadow, we live with courage.”
“So who is the obscure man, who always stands at the end of Djin Avenue?”
“The anthropomorphism of bad deeds, evil, natural disasters.” Scar carries on with himself, “We lack courage, so we don’t become Gods of our lives”
“Why would I want to become a shadow?” The man frowns, “you make no sense.”
“You don’t want to become a shadow. You want to become courage. Courage or God whatever you want to call him, is only a shadow because you, we, haven’t realised his potential. That is, we haven’t become the courage we sought.”
“Are we the obscure man?”
“Yes. It is us standing at the end of Djin Avenue.”
Therapy. Version 2. Or Crack.
“I see you’ve cracked.” The therapist says, tilting her body on the big computer chair.
“Haven’t we all?” I ask
“No. Do I look like I’ve cracked?” She asks, tilting herself forward and spinning in the chair to show me her entire body.
“The night is young. I can crack you if you want.”
“And how would you do that?” She asks.
“Headbutt you.”
“Then you’d crack more and we’d both just be a gooey mess.”
We both draw smirks on our shells.
“You are being inappropriate perhaps, Miss Therapist.” I etch a grin on my shell. “Do you remember when we all had cracks, out of the virtue of being human?”
She draws another smirk on her face, “Are you using a euphemism?”
I draw raised eye brows on my face, “Well the euphemism sure was implied. But I also mean metaphorically.”
She tilts her body forwards and looks…
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Gorilla asks again
Some religious humans can be heard saying things that question whether a person can have morality without believing in God and lessons in the Bible. But doesn’t that say more about their moral values, if they need a book and the threat of hell to give them their moral values, rather than just having them on account of being a good person?
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