I thought I had mastered the controlled,
altruistic violence of forgiveness.
With pounding ferocity, my sombre heart beat in rhythm
to my lips begging, tongue licking– sucking
on the taste of catharsis.
I did not find release in the moonlight’s caricature;
my skin was stretched, splayed as blackness over gravel.
My shadow does not resemble me,
but he, too, seeks atonement.

~Van Dael

Which philosopher invented water?
Because it seems as though every common-sense principle has already been attributed to some jargon speaking public intellectual, I suppose the very air that I breathe came from the nostrils of some pretentious prick.

I guess I’m just a little bitter today.

It feels satisfying to write after so long. I won’t say much other than the poem spurred a long time ago while I was walking home along the canal that runs beside my old house across Berkhamsted.

I loved that canal. Sometimes I would stop on the little bridge above the canal just to admire the view. On that particular day, I was stood watching a gorgeous swan as it swam towards my direction. The water rippled behind it like a long silk dress, it moved with such an elegance. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I whispered, “Stunning.” But as soon as the words left my mouth, it let out the most hideous, almost-ludicrous sounding screech- something between a shriek and a croak. I reeled back in disgust, hardly able to believe that such an beautiful creature could have produced such an ugly sound. I felt as though it was laughing at me.

It disappeared under the bridge and I walked home.

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