Segue Nineteen

______

I wrote this in early March last year whilst sat on the floor of the London Underground. It was one of the last tubes of the night, and I had just been blown away by Explosions in the Sky. Prior to this, as is customary, I had been writing the usual clichéd angsty teenage stuff, but I felt like this piece had actual depth to it, rather than being just another emotion-fuelled pseudo-rant. I hope I wasn't wrong!
______

A blank page in an open book. Such a shame that words must mar its pristine beauty. But do they? Words can in themselves produce magnificence, provoke both glorious and crushing emotion. Words can move mountains. Words like these. Words of such acuity and precision that no being, friend or enemy, angel or foul demon, could deny them.

But no-one ever says these words. Everybody's mouths are shut; their pages blank. This is why I speak. Because I want to. Because I feel I must. Because things have to change. So here I sit, readying myself to clear the detritus, to commence my polemic attack upon apathy. Heaven is talked of as paradise after death; but why not here, why not now? So on my own foggy streets shall I create my empyrean, however inadequate, however factitious. It will pervade through my consciousness, and I will be free.