For people who kill themselves

Sitting there against the arm rest I’m nothing but a complaint followed by the squeeze. The precursor to angina is the matrix.

You want people more than anything and when you finally get them they want to ask you a favour.

I’m never going back to uni or the rooftop movies.

I should write about the music, I’m definitely wary of my tendency to pedestal.

It’s always paralysing when someone kicks the leg out from under you and you go what the hell did I do?

I don’t really write about other people anymore, it just never works. Keeps you up.

My only aim is independance and yes I KNOW what it says,

True character is measured by self sacrifice,

Sorry jesus was wrong and no-one despises people more than the pastor.

It does makes sense to act against the will, at least that way people can

start to experience the phenomenon of the word no and I don’t need

glycerol trinitrate anymore.

But even if I make sense I’m not right.

I’m just not right. It’s still too loud, a baby is shrieking most of the time and I

want to blame the mother. The plague has destroyed much of our native

bushland, and a pesticide against newborns may be required if the great

Australian dream isn’t cured.

Even at this stage with all the fires and child add worth is still measured

by your signature.

Yes I know marriage vows and birth certificates and property contracts are

void by natural disasters but I still don’t know that I know that.

Oat milk makes my lip itch and the connisuer just isn’t right.

I lie all the time – telling people I appreciate them or that they’re

indispensible but actually no – that is reserved for those doing the impossible.

They are the yes men.