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We're entering the Cyberpunk age. 

A fox passes by in the city high street.

What would cities look like if all shops closed and people died?

Shops are still open and they dance to beats of death, 

the néant never is far away; we better make it part of us. 

I bite into my fish and chips in the pouring rain, the flesh is warm and the grease sticks to my fingers even after I lick them. 

I invited you to my funeral of young lady, 

I don’t understand why becoming family with a person I love means that I died.

Do we preserve life or create nothingness by making scattered dance moves in between two white pills? 

I can see your eye bags darkening as dawn approaches. 

You are tired of life so you decided not to sleep, partying without a smile in city basements. 

I have been thinking of it lately,

When you spoke of her and made me fall in love with someone I will never meet.

One day you won’t need to pay for four white walls, chasing away mould with bleach and vinegar; you know you should wear a mask when spraying bleach.

Would you like to grow a garden with me and read of lives that don’t exist? 

You eat slugs in lettuce, foxes eat garbage in overflowing bins and I understand,

wearing pink and a smile doesn’t preserve me from staring into the abyss —

I share my chips with you even though you’ve had dinner and I’ve only had breakfast. I squeeze the bag of cheap ketchup out on the paper and we dip our chips in the city high street.

We stare into the darkness and watch skeletons dance under the water surface.

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©2024 by Éloïse O'Dwyer-Armary.

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