The Spectacle Of Disintegration: A Poem

I stood alone in that big house.

The rooms destroyed and deserted.

It was built only to fall apart from within.

You created a paradise with the instruments

Of hell, it wouldn’t work, it would disintegrate,

Hurt itself, hand in hand, a torrent of self-destruction.


I stood in that echoing space, I couldn’t

Turn the light off, death never stopped knocking

On the doors, the windows looking into me

And I stood there, waiting for people to come back,

To come home, to reappear, as if everything had just

Been a silly dream, this house that was built, how touch

Evaporated once it reached my fingertips, the floor

That bodies landed on, the windows that bodies were

Thrown out of, the walls incarcerating all the screams from



I find you here, still, with me, the moving perpetrator,

You made me turn to darkness for comfort, you made me

Speak to the dead, the lesser evil, I had more hope in the dead,

The ones that couldn’t touch me anymore, tell me to fetch things,

I had been a dog, I had been a girl, sat at the empty kitchen table,

Everything dust and dead matter, everybody gone, under the night

Sky, away from your walls, the walls that hid the wars that went on,

The walls that pretended that everything was all right, that we were all

Aligned, just like every other house, the walls that made lies happen, feasible,

The sickening fantasy of normality, bestiality,

This street truly trusted its devastated walls.

photography of stars and galaxy
Photo by Free Nature Stock on

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