lost in the static // Haibun

dead bodies line the edges of the nineties. mourners threw crystal meth inside the coffin instead of soil. they used overdrawn credit cards to shift twitching powder into a worm shape. the phoenix kid took his last breaths outside the viper room on Halloween. TV’s lined the streets, stuck on the static channel. everyone got hypnotised by it, but they were high as kites too. Ramirez, Dahmer, Bundy, and Gacy were the demons you had to fear back in the seventies/eighties, but in the nineties, those rainbow smile pills covered up an entirely different hellscape. girls held their cigarettes like a weapon, their protection against the men who would inevitably hurt them. the Rachel Green haircut spread through the population quicker than any disease. black leather docs weighed down their feet — pulling them down into the peach sea. Friday nights were made up of horror films on VHS and popcorn that would give you cancer. she ate alphabet soup for breakfast, spelling out HEARTBREAK with the remaining letters. fight club made its way into the world at the latter stage of the decade where we got fucked up and basked in euphoric pain. even then, we find people to love, and then we die — leaving them with a bucket of sadness and rage to carry until they find some other gullible fuckwit to lighten the load. Gattaca taught me that every atom in my body was once part of a star. it didn’t matter what age you were, you were just as messed up as everyone else. most people are experts are hiding their psychopathic tendencies. we were just kids who went from watching Rugrats to shooting up in the back of a McDonald’s bathroom. our love was different — it was so fucking special. We felt on top of the world. even when it looked like a giant ball of cheese when we tripped on mushrooms. the beanie babies you kept hidden under my bed. they smell like old pizza and my pink sugar perfume. even though you chose to leave this world, I hate you so bad because you left me with this grief that won’t leave me alone. I see smiley pills in my dreams, and you stand in the corner, begging me to push through.

90’s kids were the
true nihilists — on the edge
of orgasmic moons

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