Something chemical

Maybe it’s something chemical,

A lost cigarette burning free.

Its twisting fumes fanned away

by dancing digits after a capital C.

.

If I let the blood that’s turned magnetic,

Will my body be repaired,

To a time before a white flag was raised

to E=mc squared.

.

‘Existence is futile, meaning is dead’,

We declare while drowning in drink.

Rumination is spread by an ivory blade,

hungry eyes are refusing to blink.

.

Like a snowflake in the midst of a flurry,

Slow dancing in the eye of the storm,

I’m lucid, I’m still and I’m beautiful,

But the fabric around me is torn.

.

The sand is wearing thin and

charcoal turns to confetti on the scale.

‘Neglect is more noble than self-indulgence’

The closing chapter of a modern tale.   

– Clare Gower

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