With every drop of happiness
Every small moment of contentment
Comes this laughable realisation
That these moments
Fleeting and irrelevant
from years ago
Dictate my current state
Without effort or malice
I am me back then
Myself a million years ago
And now
And still
And so are you
I wish I could erase all
These false memories
It’s both things all the time
Because I am this and that
I am a feather in someone else’s cap
I was never a writer just
Someone falling through various thoughts
Some of which caught on
The frayed edges of my being
On my way down
Because it is always spinning
IT
Is always spiralling out
The non-definitive centre of yourself
Never stopping
Only the speed varies
And that
Despite popular belief
We can in fact control
It’s just that most of the time
It’s more fun not to…
They never have the good olive oil
I’m trying to be healthy and I can’t get the virgin olive oil
I mean
I walk to the beaten down tough as shit guy in the company blue shirt stacking whatever the fuck onto dusty shelves
‘hey man, you guys don’t keep the good oil anymore?’
He jumps up with the energy of someone ready to die or kill
‘Yes Yes! We have!’
And scurries out through the nearby metal swing doors - reappearing 2 minutes later with the bottle of extra Virgin
‘We can’t keep it out, people keep stealing it…’
He looks at me, equal parts confusion and embarrassment,
and hands it over
‘Wow, really. End of the fucking world’, I say
He doesn’t even smile.