lifeisalandfill

Covered in radium, locked into a brain-computer interface

Watch the augmented boy glow and hiss

Yearning for jizzum, aching for piss

His prefrontal cortex, bulbous aglow

Transistor fast

Neuron slow

There are no metaphors left

Just a single pixel tear

A prostitute paces the perimeter of an overpriced gym. The neon purple light from its logo gives her skin a dark reflective hue. She is a few bad decisions off middle age, rotund to the kind.

Opposite her a group of thirty something males, in various states of baldness, debate whether their taxi fair could be better spent.

A few streets down, the late night drinking den is beginning its lock-in early. Lit by the pattern of fruit machine flash, it contains grey faces content on chasing away the remnants of Monday night misery.

Across the street, amid the dark of the waterfront, where it has become dangerous to walk due to a recent spate of sexual assaults, a pair of drunks debate Proust whilst sharing the dregs of their fortified wine.

Just beyond them, a graffito reads: “life is a landfill, we are all rust”.