Your file is corrupt Dean,
and I’ve eaten the core
of your heart
and found each broken
kiss to be a storm
wearing a raincoat.
September will bring
than every lung
you have kept
in your cupboard
so you can steal
who has stolen yours.
How do you build
in the centre of
Take a needle
and pierce the velvet
of your own interior.
Buy my soul
and treat it to a meal
so I can feel special
on the day
– Aaron Kent
When navigating through the hurricane of your own
respiratory system, simply imagine a miniature clown
car speeding downhill with fifty five versions of
yourself suffocating inside – one of you steers along the
constantly expanding and retracting ridges of a pot
holed diaphragm whilst the other fifty four of you kick
the back of your seat, screaming childhood nicknames.
One of them covers your eyes, laughing manically. The
car spins. You punch the horn but spiders explode from
inside the wheel, gulping down the eyeball fluid out of
your screaming passengers. The upholstery of the car
shakes violently – rats crawl out from the stitching,
vomiting thick, black tar over the eyeball drinking spiders.
You approach a flashing carousel. Each horse has somebody
you love tied to the saddle. The radio flickers on – there’s
a song you just can’t get out of your head that goes,
‘Everyone you love is dead! Everyone you love is dead!’
Your foot hits the brake only to find a note that says,
‘Are you currently working? Do you usually pay for
your motion inhibitor?’ It’s too late. You’re going to
hit the carousel. You turn your head and brace for impact.
Rats, spiders, broken horses, rejection emails, neon lights
and severed limbs dance to the audio bruise of your engine
music. Turn left. You have now reached your destination.
I don’t know if they make a raincoat deep enough to keep those
kind of parts dry. Then again, we’re all fucked, and a casket is
probably the most effective form of contraception I’ll ever try.
– Dean Rhetoric