PHOTO CREDITS// HYPERDECADENCE

Had this habit of hitting the air with ghost fists. Uppercut, left the scene. Left hook, my way out of town. Was only semi-present in any fight because some part of me was still punching ephemeral enemies 16 mile markers down the road. Man, I was furious. Serious, I was. My ghost heart growled. Bared motherfucking teeth and I was gonna win the war. Even if I had to pull out my teeth, hurl them at you like bullets. I was Rocky Balboa, if Balboa had glass fists and never knew he’d shattered into seventeen trillion shards. Five years ago, during the fight of his life.

I hit the air, so the air ran away from me
Don’t blame it

Lived in the night because nothing in the day wanted me around. Sun was afraid it’d burn me. Send solar flares to scorch me if I tried to right jab stun it, speed away. The light don’t put up with fuck all. Moon never fled, though. Everyone knows it’s full of holes. Just a punching bag for mercurial minds with fists like dark missionaries. Problem is, you go mano-a-mano with the moon so long and it astral shifts you. Suddenly. All you notice. Is that you’re circling circling circling the Earth. Disconnected. Disassociated. Watching over everything from a distance only space explorers will search you out, lay their pole in you and ‘claim’ you.

You’re out of this world and you fought to be there. Turned away from the sun, in some perpetual co-dependent loop with a world that only sees phases of you. Only sees all of you in a full moon, the crazy time. Anger at 100%. And you face the world full-faced and scream fuck.you.

We’ll find a reason to restart
Watch the setting sun
Not fall apart

I don’t want to be Sandra Bullock. Not sexy enough to shout, silently into space. Gravity’s never been my saviour. Nor is it for anyone battering at their nightmind. It’s all I don’t notice the world anymore until bitchslaps hit you like meteroids and the Earth’s getting payback. Your skull’s careening rapid rapid rapido into the sad-craters you left behind when you were blindly bashing at, like, fucking everything.

You say: Houston, do you copy?
Does anyone copy?
And no one does.

So you say to the sun
I don’t want to fight no more
Make me Mr. Lights Fantastic

Suddenly there’s christimas lights in your capillaries. And you can see again. Best of all, everyone can see you. Can’t not see you. You’re alien. An oddity from outerspace, that great beyond where everything was unknown. Your mood, unknown. Your heart, celestial and some fucking fantasy. Your brain, lit up and pouring warmth out eyes that only knew how to stare coldly into nothingness. There was so much night. But when you stopped trying to be some erotic version of an MMA fighter. Pleaded for a second chance from yourself. You became Mr. Lights Fantastic. And you can see, no more lonely streets. You can see sadness has an end.

They say this is where the world ends
You will never lack for company
You will never find a lonely street
It’s just footsteps and feelings

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