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Septic tank universe

 
        I live in a rectangle and it is the purity of the world in which I live. The
        sea surrounds the sun-silver walls which slithers radioactive junkie
        degenerates. Sklaaaaaatch, skraaaaaaaawww, shhhhhhhhhhlaaap of
        the tearing and pouring of blood, flesh and lime cascading from                                       
        blades.
 
        BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
 
        The sun-silver walls SHOOT five metres to the sun of the kingdom.
 
        Government instruments penetrate with see-rays and battle with blood
        cameras that spray psychoactive substances to diffuse and disorient
        the opponent.
 
        “Tut-tut” I mutter. “A warthog-in-mud tactic”.
 
        Someone shouts from criss-cross metallic megaphones.
 
        Government vehicles stride the sky with beeps, blips and clicks
        permeating from slits in the high-beam lights. The council cleaners
        strip the Government Manufactured & Crafted 1905-vintage wallpaper
        that is pasted onto the firmament. Waste is compressed into structure-
        cubes cut in 2cm intervals.

 
 
        The dettol lake sucks up the dirt-germs sourced from a constellation
        of abscesses held in various city hospitals. The three-amigo
        checkpoints filter the scum-particles held in the backseat of a vomit-
        car dropped into the dettol lake.
 
        Behind, moving electric benches support statues which secrete white
        blood cells magnified-physical 2000 times. Autoclaves line the edges
        of the horizon. Steam puff furtive.
 
        “Steam the air and strip it bare, boys.”
 
        All drugs anti-cover the 5-metre perimeter of my bedroom. All anti-this
        and anti-that. Anti-histamines, anti-biotics, anti-septics and anti-
        psychotics. But I have no need for any of these, rolling as my brain
        does, no contaminants required nor sprayed mind/fur-altering
        microbes. (they fill the shelves). It’s all anti-life. But purity and sterility
        wash the hands that forsake the filth. Eyes in an evil (they pierce the
        mirror) to which I stare in Kafka horror. My body is completely encased.
 
        I am becoming a germ.

 

The aim of this project is to share lived experiences of mental health via poetry. Therefore, some of the content may potentially trigger some readers. If you require mental health support or assistance, a list of free confidential 24/7 support lines can be found here. You are not alone in your journey.

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