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Trepanning

by Josh Read

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1.
Spitting on Graves 04:00
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Blood feuds contrived Peace in death denied Dead nan, dug up This is not love Scraped ash from dirt Armed with solicitors Black sheep, pond scum Give me a reason So this is how you thank Loyalty, piety, service? I no longer think, why couldn’t it have been me? Why couldn’t it have been you, pigs? Dead pigs. Graves on graves That’s the way Saved a space For your disgrace I am bound by the big wigs Four limbs nailed and set Leave her alone, she’s already dead She has tended to every family grave in that yard I never once saw you there Do not pretend to care for a dead girl you never even met Invent problems To ruffle feathers Ruffle feathers Ruffle feathers Ruffle feathers And for what? Vultures. Claw at the earth just to spite the plough Disregard every familial vow I’ll be waiting when you’re dying I’ll be waiting when you’re dying To spit on your grave I hope you don’t mind I hope you don’t mind
2.
Stillbirth in the Tabloids 05:24
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A dead sister and a stillborn nephew is one thing, but having the gormless local tabloid writers clamour at your front door for a statement? Well, that’s certainly another. But life has a funny way of never working out, and that’s just how it happened. You politely declined, and instead made one all too reasonable request: “Don’t make this front page news I don’t wanna see her in my papers Don’t make this front page news I don’t wanna see it I’ve already lost all I love” Promised they would not, they would not They promised they would not, they would not They promised they would not, they would not They promised they would not, they would not Never trust fat rats Never trust fat rats Fat rats And so the very next day you took a walk to the village shop, and saw the papers posted outside She was all over them This was a new kind of anger Nothing like the adolescent angst or nihilistic misanthropy I know and loathe This was real and righteous and rather dangerous On you marched up to their HQ, clenched fists, sore throat, none could stop you Half a mind to kill them Break a window, break a rat’s face Damn them all to a warm place Kick ‘em half dead like Tiny did But Tiny topped himself in the end That’s not poetic, but it’s real Tiny got his retribution against those bullies, but that trauma never left So what good would throwing your life away for a few bloodied noses have been really? They’ll all die anyway They got off without a scot And kept printing hogwash Whilst you planned all the funerals Your parents broke up Then my great grandfather cursed your mum’s name like a rat You cursed him back, he wrote you out of the will, upped and died, and that was that A right hook at the wrong time Lodged spite in your mind Never trust anyone Contempt for everyone At least I know At least I know Why he doesn’t make friends And I don’t blame him I don’t blame him I don’t blame him I don’t blame him Because the baby had an open casket funeral
3.
Ribs Poke Out 03:29
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Food is not fun, nor is it free So pardon me for skipping lunch Breakfast is another chore And dinner’s the bare minimum I’ll stand for This is the whipping post I stand on Built upon the very hill I’ll die on It is I that gambles with my own health So why should that bother anyone else? I don’t need reminding of my own ignorance It’s as deliberate as it is stupid Preconceived notions of an optimal weight Legitimise desire to self-flagellate Most of my sins only bother me Yet most of them put me off my food Like a gelded pig in the Summer swill I haven’t the balls to recover my will And the less I eat, the weaker I get My ribs poke out like a mongrel pet Surplus food’s thrown out each week So how dare I let spoil my meat? I don’t need reminding of my own ignorance I’m as culpable as I am foolish I know not why I do this Maybe it’s the family dinners I’m missing Because all my family’s dropping like flies Sucking up the rot of everyone that dies Here one day, and gone the very next I lost the phone that held all our texts All I love slips out of my hands Like a three-eyed fish fleeing from land Sooner or later, I too shall be dead And it won’t matter if I was fed All is swallowed by the dunes of time Where the poets no longer force their rhymes And the idiots shut their mouths at long last And the dead-eyed proles forget their past No one will miss us No one will miss us No one will miss us No one Wool pulled over my eyes Ingrown hair stuck in my thighs Skin that withers and dries Safe space? Nothing but lies Unkind animal hole Death knell of the penitent soul Social capital bought and sold Why would you die when you could get old? Peace? No: Sisyphean con Roll that ball til you break both thumbs Then roll the rock some more Any idea why you’re being ignored? ‘Cause when you die the boulder will fall And erase your memories one and all So when you fear the strangers’ eyes Take comfort in knowing that they will die Don’t cry There’s no time Don’t cry There’s no time
4.
Waging War on the Autistic Child 04:00
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Children died under your supervision Fear mongering for privatised vaccination Wakefield’s not even a doctor anymore Still, you abide by the oaths he swore I am not a walking disease man I am not a walking disease man I am not a walking disease man I am not a walking disease man Since 2000, eight children have died of measles in this country as a result of having not accepted the UK immunisation programme. Andrew Wakefield propagated the myth of the MMR vaccine causing autism to scare new parents into buying his separate vaccines so he could turn a profit. Wakefield instilled so much fear of autism into the public consciousness that eight children died, and the parents at my primary school ignored my mum and labelled me a freak. Failure Failure You killed them You killed them You killed them You killed them You branded me You branded me They shunned us They shunned us Me They feared me Because of you ‘cause of you They hated me Because of you Because of you Because of you I was never diagnosed right You and your ilk - they lied Failure Failure Let’s turn The needles on you Wakefield? No: Charlatan Charlatan Charlatan
5.
Rustlers 03:49
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The hobs are too slow Hobs are too slow Hobs are too slow Hobs are too slow Microwave a TV dinner And warm it right up Bulk buy at the supermarket Lie about your drinking habit Rustlers can be eaten cold He got fat off the ready meal Sofa-bound by the Holsten Pils Rendered indolent by the Heartbeat repeats on ITV 3 And excitedly declared ‘I love this advert’ while watching the funeral planning service commercial He’s doing better now, but nothing else is For three long years a grudge had been held Aloft in two pairs of hands that were nailed To the cross of cold cowardice, stubbornness, pain We scraped off our qualms and sequestered our shame And now, I think, the years were wasted but to be fair He called my brother a ****, when he was only trying to help We’ve both learnt things since then I’m more forgiving Last night - telephone rang We got given some news The news being that it had started again So here’s a quick jazz fusion break Since I started Writing this song He lapsed back in Our work undone He had a choice Drink or Me Should’ve been a simple choice Maybe I’m not as forgiving as I claim We all lost so much that day But we have got to keep on going for our family Stand up Is it up to me to try and save him? Or was he always destined to end himself? Is it up to me to try and save him? Or was he always destined to end himself? Is it up to me to try and save him? Or was he always destined to end himself?
6.
Smacking 03:45
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It’s all kicking off downstairs Grab a long-list of acquaintances, then, line them up according to your preferences Yank one, looking good, yes, that’ll be the one that cripples my marriage and betrays my sons She’s an escape from a dried up love life, he’s just another excuse to have a good time He’s unhappy, she’s wired as well, six kids in the midst of domestic hell, smack smack Smack Smack Cries, denies *nonsense screaming* That’s all you hear *nonsense screaming* At eleven years old Sat me down Said it was done Called my friends “I’ll fix it” He’d fix it He’ll fix it He fixed it And now it’s fine It should be fine It’ll never be fine It should be fine It’ll never be fine It should be fine It’ll never be fine It should be fine It’ll never be fine For every argument made Every fault that’s implied That fateful night lifts its head Like a crow on the line Time only heals if you let it It’s mended now, neither holds a grudge It’s over now, so who am I to judge? I am the son I am the son I am the son I am the son I am the son And I was there I was there I was there I was there I am the son I am the son I am the son I am the son I am the son And divorce was hung above my head, it was yanked back up, so I’ve got this instead
7.
I Wrote a Note (The Sickly Movements) 01:55
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Every night I think upon The flyover And why I did not jump off I chose to remain In the hopes that life would fix itself Perhaps something would change Indeed, change certainly came for me But that trauma never left I’ve come on leaps and bounds But I could still go And they’ll all think I wanted to I’d seem like the selfish one The sooner we see suicide As succumbing to illness We can stop calling it ‘the coward’s way out’ A guy at my school tried to kill himself and all his mates joked about it A guy at my school tried to kill himself and all his mates joked about it I never found it funny I never found it funny I never found it funny No, sir
8.
Blood Cancer 05:28
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All suffering may be relative But one of the best of mine died In a hospital bed four years ago And the world they left behind Is showing no sign of becoming bearable again Just like it was before Just like it was before Just like it was Like it was The grandson’s grief seemed tertiary And so in secret I’d flog and flay and flagellate myself This insufferable silence is mine It’s what’s right I fear I don’t cry enough Given all these graves I walk across Panache to ash and trust to dust I only arise because the clock says I must Going on and on and on and on, on about making peace with it Can’t, won’t Can’t, won’t Can’t, won’t Curled up, infantile, burrowed into my arm ‘I want my mummy, I want my mummy’ I don’t blame anyone But these things haunt you I don’t blame anyone But these things stick with you Curled up, infantile, burrowed into my arm ‘I want my mummy, I want my mummy’ I don’t blame anyone But these things haunt you I don’t blame anyone But these things stick with you Curled up, infantile, burrowed into my arm ‘I want my mummy, I want my mummy’ I don’t blame anyone But these things haunt you I don’t blame anyone But these things stick with you Life is not the same anymore This misery is not the glamorous kind I don’t cut myself anymore I’d just have another thing to hide Give me your hand, man If you wish to wade through this Rot resides in all men Death doubles down on this Soon, soon, soon, soon
9.
Ipswich Until I Die 03:02
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Running out of time To justify my life I know I am I’m sure I am I’m stuck here ‘til I die My life is not worth living As long as I’m not giving Up all my time All of the time To leave something behind It’s been two years since I tried to die, I still wonder if my choice was right, What’s the point in being alive if I’m not busy all of the time? Because I tried doing nothing, I tried out relaxing, and it’s fine, But pretty soon the mass of misery burrows back in, trepanning into my brain Brings back yesteryear’s pain, and I wonder if only dying can make it go away. I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop The blue boys seem so satisfied With a racist, sexist life I live with them Grew up with them It’s these pigs I swill beside *pig noises?* Days like these He returns A blight upon the breeze In which each breath burns Waste me Kick my head in again, boy Drown me, burn me Realise my worst fears Make me think I want you to kill me “If your neck hangs, then shake your legs” When I think there’s no map back to happiness Cold creeps in Kill me, oblivion’s waiting either way A death away from nothing and that’s where I’ll stay
10.
Valley of Shipping Containers 10:40
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Count the carrion lining every lane As they rot away Watch as they return to dust again Closer each day I found a feathered angel I took it home with me It left blood upon the bedsheets And my brother’s note bedside I went back downstairs to dull the pain Looked up at the landing Where there had been said red bloody stain The angel was standing ‘My life is empty without you’ I sobbed through tired tears They blurred its frame and features Until it disappeared Now I lay in what’s left A cradle of crying kin Floating untethered through This mess we’re in The bileheap stops at a sheer drop Sunlit skies beneath A plunge ever-enticing An infinite relief A nighttime journey, a path paved with pale faces Of those we’ve lost and those we’ve left behind I lift my foot off a face that looks familiar It burrows out of the earth and stares me down ‘I will always be dead’ It wept through stony eyes It climbed back into its hole And stifled a ‘goodbye’ Now it’s just me on the road As it’s always been If I leap into nothing No-one’s coming with me

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released December 2, 2022

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Josh Read England, UK

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