The Morning After


The heat has finally abated. You can exhale without feeling steam rising from the core of your insides, burning its way out of your nostrils and warming the air in front of your face to bakery level temperatures. Last night was a tropical freak storm in a small space; catastrophic, with a delicious malevolence that would have made Satan proud. You flashback, goosebumps popping up on both arms as shivers draw maps of nowhere across your back. Cork the bottle of memories or risk being incapacitated. Obedience is sacrifice, you shed blood and contemplate resurrection.

It’s hard to stand. Incredibly hard. The wall is a helping hand. Violated and ravaged, your body has many words for you and all of them are expletives. You join in the swearing, giving an audible voice to the pains that head, torso and legs cannot express. What happened in the dark left messages for the light to reveal. Read between the lines, no decryption required.

Hands under bleeding faucet, water to eyes. Again and again without gain. It is impossible to wash away what’s been imprinted on your retinas and burned onto your brain cells. You’re an invaded country, private spaces made public and occupied with contemptible disregard for propriety. Ruin has come to your defenses, destruction to your morality and decay to your watersheds. Welcome to the desertification of your soul.

Poetry: Like Noah’s Ark Wrecked


No tongue, I read your lips with mine,
You’ll have none of that, a vampire out to dine.
Switch, teeth in the flesh of my neck,
Wild animals on the loose like Noah’s ark wrecked.

Act 1, Scene 2. I want you, a statement of fact,
But you won’t reel me in until the second act.
You’re a lap dance at a dead party, I’m alive,
But this, who knows how long I will survive?

Bare chest to bare chest, fingertips inches apart,
Cardiac drumming, there’s an African tribe in my heart.
Chaos, flashing spears of telepathic messages: need,
I am become the prey, cornered, you pounce to feed.

Blood spurts, a tropical storm of red,
Your eyes are glazed over. Lust. Dread.
Is this what it feels like to broken? Please, do it again.
This here is a different kind of pain. Make it rain.

Pushing Boundaries: Foals’ New NSFW Music Video Is As Extreme As They Come


English rockers Foals take things to the edge in the music video of their reflective single, ‘Late Night’. Set in a place fittingly called ‘Hotel Of Life’, the moody short shows a birth, a suicide and a session of rough sex all taking place simultaneously in rooms above as the band performs downstairs. It’s life, really. If you haven’t turned 18, keep your eyes tightly shut from beginning to end and enjoy the audio.