Blue Rosey Jazz

The instrument has a swing to it, but underneath the lilting rhythms it plays there is a sadness only music could conceal under such bombastic noise.

It’s the sadness of walking the streets in that blue late night air. It’s in the gazes one could shoot down alleys, knowing in one of them a addict is using up the last of their stash.
The tune of that brass curve will follow you round the bends of concrete and bitchumen, fluctuating it’s strength like the wind that sheers off your chipped shoulder on a gusty day.
It’ll saunter alone, drifting through the clouds as you ask a God on high to stop you from the terror you’re about to unleash.
One could sit transfixed in it’s melody passing off everyone, and all else, to pluck that sadness from it.
It sounds so beautiful when you’ve done no wrong.
Yet will make you clutch for the bottle while you lay in the clutches of regret.
It will make you scream for salvation from a nail bed of your own making, or cause you to relish a beating.
It brings those with hollow halos down to swig from lucifers chalice.
It makes turning the cheek possibl and will even call some to noir murder. It wil touch the fire in your belly till you bellow forth your true self or a flame so violent it will shred you raw.
At which point ‘where do you turn?’ With such beautiful self hatred in your palms ‘where do you turn?’
Do you project to the world a softly stoic rapsady? Or do you trumpet an inferno of rage, a jet fuel candle soul to leave a memory tarnished with no one.
With no one around who would care to correct the reputation of an arsonist.
For you see these are no vocals from an unknown sorrow, these floating clouds, these dingy alleys, these terrors or that fire.
This is not lucifers chalice, this is blue rosey Jazz.
This is my soul screaming at itself as the sax screeches at me
This is my holy horned self loathing.
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Friends

To forgive, I give my all on returns of nothing at all. I sit in pits of my own making, quiet places escaping relating.

Call me crazy I wish for a call maybe. ‘Nothing major, none necessary, I’m fine really.’

I find comfort in same old but fear growing old with the same boldness, all this in the hopes of not walking through gray walls.
Who could wonder it’s all green texts every month, from friends I knew once. Who could be blunter?
I’d kill for my lost wonder the kind of delinquence, I once had in crystal castles, missing a part of life though the years for it have past.
I see-saw, the next five years remain my most imagined picture, though much brighter it is, I catch myself lighting spliffs to forget that this is it, my only go at shit’s creek.

What is twenty something without something wrong? I know it all too well that ‘hell it’s nothing.’
I’d catch a siren to see your most treasured diamonds.
I ask only second of your time, then forget me, I get it.
See my faults are clear in my eyes, practically begging you to tear down my disguise and see my inner child behind, making worlds in a head that should be pressed to bed covers.
I don’t want to be all the others, brothers that don’t bother and sisters that would rather get pissed every other night.
I prey to a God I don’t believe in, even commit mortal sins all for a chance to grin with a dancing hymn.
For banter without chunder in a bit.

For an answer.
For a ‘hello how you been?’
I often get intimidating, a moniker I’ve never related to.
Mostly, because I’m just as scared as you.
Through and through, I’m beginning to think you don’t think it applies to me too.
The mountains I would move to make you think otherwise.
Techno my only managed relation, is it my fate to walk the city streets alone?
all dressed up with nowhere to go but a café where my order is all they know?
‘You’re a loser bro!’
‘Don’t you know we’ve all moved on.’

I wonder what’s my new favourite song?

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