The Apathetic Enthusiast

Words without Me

Fight Club

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I am Jacks overwhelming sense of discouragement
I am Jacks seeping acceptance of wasted opportunities
I am Jacks failed attempts to stay sober 
I am the crumbs of Jacks short lived enthusiasm 
I am Jacks island of apathy

Build a raft and drown. 



When April Fools never comes

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I am Shock
Cling film wrapping around a sphere of salt water
Wrapping my mind around the unbelievable gravity this holds
The thick force it unrelentingly pounds with
A distortion of time
The same epic seconds on loop
A creaking door
An inability to reason
The sudden Death of a friend
I am heartbreak
I am menial activities throughout the day
I am  
Not

Apathy doesn’t mind

IMG_20150615_231432.Being Gone.
.
.
.
Like a sliver of the moon
You ask me to apologise
for not being around all the time
.
.
.

Leaving you in the Hospital Cafeteria

Snapchat-7571010790004525180.

.

The streets are impersonal and unwilling to make excuses
My money wasn’t worth what I could stomach but it was worth the time
As soon as we leave here its over
As soon as we leave
We’re gone

.

.

Diluted Days.

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Changing scenery so suddenly
Unnervingly adjusting to unraveling so seamlessly
Quietly stepping
Accustomed to such company
I’ll excuse myself until the sun goes down

Face I left with

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Winter
I’ll let these tears devour me
Before I make wishes on these eyelashes
I’ll let this rain freeze my skin
Before the coal dust turns me black
Let fire orange fingers of dead tree tips catch me
Before gorse bush roots can grow around my wrists
Before I can remember names on monuments
Built and left to crumble in this old mine town

Dead Not Buried

SteveJoWaitarere 1034
In celebration we party. 
No particular reason. 
We smoke cigars and drink in the day. 
Beer bottles thrusting. 
Foaming and spilling.
Who cares.
Who knows.
Whos watching.

I left another boy just this morning. 
I said No. 
No thank you. 
Sick of your shit.
Goodbye.
Your book is in the mailbox.
Not my cup of tea I'll take a whiskey thanks.

With music and plans for life I make half lunch half dinner. 
My house. 
My ways. 
My time.
My comfort.

Pastry defrosted. 
Fresh eggs and bacon. 
Mushrooms, Tomatoes and Herbs.
Knife. 
Cutting board. 
Meat. 


Stop.


I see them. 
Two of them. 
Fat black and crawling.
Sick and disgusting.
Inside the thin plastic deli bag they feast. 
Wings wet and bathing.
Juices of room temperature flesh. 
Feasting. Feastering. Flesh.
Blow flies.
Black.
Black Black Black in and on skin.
In and on me.
Meat.Fresh.Rotting. 
Solid skin thick pink and feeling.
Fat hairy pigs hot in the mud breathing. 
Sliced and diced and chopped for soups for breakfasts for pies.
Minds eye seeing flies eyes eying unseeing eyes dry.
Dead. 
Bleeding. 
Crackling.


Stop.


I am 5 years old. 
Dads hand on my shoulder. 
In the middle of no where at a roadside farm cafe. 
'What's that Daddy?'
'A fat pig.'
Ice cream melting over sticky fingers.
I climb higher and lean over the fence for a better look.


Stop.


I scream.
I can't handle. 
Drop the knife. 
Shake the bag. 
Desperate.

Get out. 
Get away. 
Away. Away. 
But they hold on. 
Unmoving. 
Gripping. 
Tiny legs clutching at fleshs ridges.
Black holes in my universe. 
Destroyers. 
I am crushed. 
They take me. 
All of me. 
Suck me in and freeze me.
Tear me and twist me.
Wrap me in plastic light and tight against my mouth.
Drown me in weepings.
Unbreathing.
Constrict me in time. 
Faces flashes violent.
Unbearable.
I am decomposing in the sea while flies enjoy what's left of me.


Stop.


Friends.
Whats your problem, what happened are you okay?
I laugh it off. 
Shake it off. 
Off. Off. Off. 
Twitching.

I'm sorry I'm fine it's okay, just a fly just a shock.

Laughs shaking straining from my mouth. 

What a silly thing, such a shame.

I won't tell them I never want to eat again.

I don't want anything. 
Cored. 
I want to stop. Just stop.


Stop.


Distractions.
Wine. 
Spirits.
Weed.
Ghosts. 
Quick escapes to the park.
Smiles. 
Black feelings. 
Loud laughter.
Screaming. 
Dancing feet thud at the floor.
Smoke in the house. 
Lights off. 
Strobe thrashing. 
Towels soaking spilt drinks. 
Bruises mounting. 
Tip toe creeping.

The sun is gone and almost back again. The last moon my company. 

I flatten pastry. 
Cut bananas. 
Mix spices. 
Coco and dark berry jam.
Deep breaths and straight back. 
Flies deafly buzzing. 
Drunk stumbles, thoughts blurring, calm even humming.
Dish buttered. 
Sugar burning and bubbling.
Cold hands on hot glass.
Watching.

Pies packed with vows I think I'll burn my tongue on.



Things we see in Windows

all 369                           You don't know me. 
                     I've never crossed your mind.
        Your imaginary life will exist and carry on without me.
      Once the train arrives the colour of your shirt will leave. 
                       Your hair will fall away. 
                     Your shoes will keep walking.
                   But not the hardness of your face. 
      Cheekbones gouged in wood. Scorched. And nailed to my chest.

When it’s over and a waste

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     Disappointment was a blinding discovery
     A sudden and obvious truth 
     A sinking ship in the night
     Cold water engulfing warm bed sheets
     Regret was thicker
     A tough meat stuck in your throat 
     A choking realization collapsing your lungs
     A thief in the day  
     Robbing you of all your favourite possessions 
     While you relax in the sun 
     Enjoying the scenery

Not Saying Anything at All

April 10-14 151

             Hiding in silence
                       Peace in the quiet
                              Leaving all well enough alone 
             Moonlight on water
                       Lamp light on streets
                               Cold air can freeze time too 
             Waiting in secret
                       While all the rest sleeps 
                               Relieved to finally be    
                                                      Exempt