Class Politics

I travel through space emaciated and grateful, traversing the universe with love and withdrawal, my skin flaring up to remind me I’m mortal. I’m a disgrace but never complacent. I’m happy enough to be my own downfall. – © Sam Hunt, 2018 Advertisements

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For Want of Trying

You are not relatable. All of you with glasses half, a third or quarter full. Your thirst, at any rate, is enviable. To most it’s unfathomable, but a hosepipe ban and rotting in the desert are simply incomparable. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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Mother, I know you’re concerned. I’m doing the worst that I can. With time I’ve turned into a man of self-abandonment, and I know you half-understand.   I’m a conclusion you dared not consider. I’m your reflection in your least flattering mirror. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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Normal People

Death is slow, a journey made from earnest trade-offs that we’ve labelled “trust” and “love”. I tell myself I need to trade again, but I’m out of things to sell. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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Bombing for Peace

My eyes melted while the sky and the city fell. You shone like the apocalypse and I lost you just the same, a world and history up in flames as I extended hell from the confines of my brain. – © Sam Hunt, 2018

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When it rains it pours. My knees are torn like rags as I crawl on all fours towards a never-ending nothing, a perpetual horizon against an ocean of suffering.   My bruises fade for a few more days as the rain melts the snow. Next weekend I’ll bruise again, never reaching out for help until […]

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