Bones like lead
Blood a hypothermic river.
November wind
Cuts like a razor blade,
Darknesses pierces
Like a hypodermic needle.
Cycles in cycles
And isn’t this where it all started anyway?
16 years old bumming lines of blow.
The damp & the cold slipped in through the soul.
Born after the last leaf was torn from the trees,
After the last blossoms long since withered.
Born for endings, change, decay.
Autumns’ child in the autumn of society.
Born for a Fall.
–Jack Blare, Nov 2022
Storm clouds obscure
Satellites of strobing snakes
Undulating illuminated
By flashes of blue & red
Electrical discharge
Tension of intention
In the very molecules
Of the night,
Slipped through the claws
Of Hypnos & Morpheus
Escaped the vacuous maw
Of Hade’s himself.
Orpheus of addicts
Back from hell
Alive yet not unscathed.
Bleeding, bruised & burnt
Skin like an ice rink
Crisscrossed by scars
Collapsed veins
Collapsing brain.
Collapsing star.
There is a raw beauty
To desperation.
This body is my canvas
The art is my lifestyle.
Each experience colouring
My masterpiece.
–Jack Blare
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