when good people die

it puts the flu in perspective


(there was varying qualitative darkness beyond the usual, a nefarious presence stalking the shadows of my mind)

I walked across the room and turned on my standard lamp

The standard lamp was a charity shop find and I love it

It offers no real intervention in my ability to see clearly in the room

but I like it, its friendly, comforting and familiar like a grandparent


Its taken nearly two years of rage and sadness and denial but I’m finally starting to process this shit.
I first noticed you outside the supermarket because you were beautiful and you were wearing a Conflict t-shirt. After that we would sit opposite each other in the marketplace waiting for our respective lifts home from college and we’d look at each other but we were both too shy to talk to one another.
I still don’t know how you got my hotmail address, but I remember you adding me on MSN Messenger and introducing yourself and I remember thinking Cesca – what a beautiful name. From then onwards we were hopelessly in love.
Listening to certain records by Mogwai, Ludovico Einaudi, Anti-Flag, Propagandhi, The National and Beirut will always make me think of you. When I look at photographs from that innocent time I can’t detect in yr eyes the horrors that would later occur.
I’m not gonna think about the end. I’m gonna think about all those hours in yr bedroom in Leeds quoting Chris Morris at one another, listening to music and taking silly selfies. I’m gonna think about that time you persuaded me to go out to dinner at a Moroccan restaurant wearing women’s underwear, that was fucking hilarious.
Before you died we went for drinks in Henley and made plans to go to Hong Kong together. You were gonna show me around. I guess if I go now I’ll have to buy the Lonely Planet guide instead.
At yr funeral I think I was the only one crying during the speeches and I thought that was weird. The coffin was so big and you were such a small woman, it seemed wrong. Then everyone was acting as if everything was normal and making small talk and I was like FUCKING HELL do you not understand what exactly is happening here!? Some annoying woman was trying to chat me up and I’m thinking ‘we’re at the funeral of the love of my life, have some fucking respect’. So I went outside for a cigarette with Gabi.
You were the funniest, kindest, gentlest person. So pure and beautiful. I loved you SO SO SO MUCH and I don’t think I’ll ever be totally ok with the fact that yr gone.


I want you to care but you don’t

I’m disinterested but yr obsessed

they say people will only love you

if you first love yrself

well I fucking hate myself

so how is that gonna work?

Self-criticism is my enemy

but I am a a mess of a human

I don’t think the world would be

better off without me, no way

I think that perhaps I would be

better off without the world though

not proud

there is a darkness inside of me and its followed me half way around the world

I use anything at hand to keep it temporarily at bay and between us that means

alcohol, cigarettes, weed, benzos, codeine solution, cough syrup, cocaine, speed

psilocybe mushrooms, acid, methamphetamine, opium, basically ANYTHING


I just want to smoke, drink, take drugs and die

because I can’t see any other sensible way out

nothingness, just fucking nothing, nothingness

decline into the tragic squallor that is on the horizon

drugs are the only thing that makes life bearable

either the branded ones in fancy packages

that the doctors give to me every month

or the shifty man supermarket carpark ones


I feel that my life is going to be characterised

by an inevitable decline through heavy drug use

towards an early tragic death

and I promise you it won’t be sad

because I hate being alive

does that make any sense?