True North
I celebrate you at somebody's kitchen table in the true south in the night-time
two years later tear myself down to the hard white bone alone
attempted expressing genuine sentiment
it felt like drinking cement but it kept me alive
and the sickness of a distant friend is a death to the distance for a little while
but there is no true north
there is no real truth at all
oh headaches and nausea
someone to talk to
I was that person, I am not anymore
dreamt of marching the earth but you could not feel the curvature
caught under the paw of the great dog of inertia
I will rise and leave the city
I will never leave the house
I will slip twixt kitchen tables of my best friends in the south
a sort of entropy increases and we pale and lose all meaning
forget I was the first to celebrate you in the dark
we used to call you "the double-knot" every time you got like this we'd say "You're twice as negative" you'd say "No I am not it's just that there is no true north, there is no real truth at all" You are a distant city, a shrinking whisper, you are the worst one of us all
the divine androgyne at the heart of the artifice, the pressure building up until you're glowing like a noble gas.. You know not to react and so you pound your fists and sink in dirt, you talk in maudlin little prayers, whatever kills the voices first. A super callous flagellant, a comedy of accidents, acting dead inside the ambulance, a play for sympathy or forgiveness, I always dreamt I'd fake my death, I'd hit my head and wipe my memory clean. I'd wake up next to somebody like you and be a better person, get used to the feeling of being something you'd be scared to lose, like waiting for a reason or a change that isn't coming soon.
And you, you be the dirt and the dust in my clean cuts, you be the hollow ceremony in my mother tongue
you be the great bull-muscled boy that I will never become, I have been ever so sorry for ever so long
and now bloodied up enough times until the skin just quit healing and a million TV funerals won't tell me how you must be feeling, living like you have no skin is all that she has ever known, they pass her like a cloud and I secretly hope it chokes them like there is no true north
There is no real truth at all
and you are hard to be around
it got difficult not to care about you anymore
Writer/s: Myles McCabe