Tuesday 10 November 2020

Stripping away what's beautiful





Greville and the Tombstones tries to write beautiful things. But #thereisnobeauty sometimes and this is my attempt to write something that has no beauty at all.

This is... Stripping away what's beautiful



The clouds are gathering.
The crows are gathering.

The day is autumnal because it is spiritual,
the air hangs with natsukashii.
The leaves are gathering, the teeth are gathering
Don't plug me back in, don't reconnect my limbs,
they broke in the season of summer.

Did the sun ever shine like you said it did that time?
I don't think it even shone once.
Rain in glass shoals as it swirls, splinters and falls.
My weakling eyes can't raise because they've 
only witnessed sunsets.

Souls scraping to escape their little black holes.

Coagulating around blood-wet introspective ground,
I've never been so lonely.
Medical experiments and philosophise treatments.
I don't fear these masks no more, they fetishize.
Nurses need the bodies.

Then what will you write, knowing it'll outlast you?
Whatever it is, write it out neatly.
The act of vandalism was not what was pulled from you.
Here admit deviations, recognise you were a
Dead symbol to begin with.

The nights are gathering.
The lines are gathering.

The heartless don't use a key to set the cruel beast free 
from the basement.
They leave it to crawl, pretending it's not them at all.
They thread a needle, call it transparency: 
that's where they hide in.

Does it matter if the saviour invites me to her chambers
So long as she saves me?
Goddess iconography, wood incense of her presence.
No telling after what position she'll chain me
because I'm still agnostic.

Confused at a life that won't love you back.

Now the murder is no longer nesting
in the bell tower.
Memories huddled, the birds' chests are bloodied.
You say sentiment of the missed don't haunt you
then find books with bookmarks.

It's not really so much, it's not really so much
feeling for a pulse.
Check gently for my own, it's here or there I know.
It might be feint as a word sung on skin
But I'd like it to be felt.

The candles are gathering.
The animals are gathering.

Scatter flowers anywhere, they don't matter. 







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