Typed Music


I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.


25. An unapologetic apology

Oh sorry;
I forgot you’re really suffering
I forgot your hands are bitten
By the 5 degrees wind
As you stand on the graves,
And that you left your gloves on the coach
Along with the packed lunch
Your stomach is calling for
As you observe the Fuhrer’s picnic
Of broken and devalued ashes.
This place is empty and exposed
And far bleaker than the caverns
Of your digestive system
And it’s the emptiness that gets me;
A huge void that suggests death
Far more clearly than the cracked floor
Of the ‘shower’ room.

Oh sorry;
I forgot you’re being led on a dirt track
And that the grit is rubbing
Into the suede of your new boots
It must be quite calamitous
For a place to so thoughtlessly
Trash your thirty quid.
Personally I wasn’t looking
At your feet;
I could feel the grit rubbing
Into my stinging eyes
And across and across and across
The rawness of my heart
As I’m swallowed by
The ‘sandpit’ ironically named
After a child’s delight
While gallows stand at one end.

Oh sorry;
I forgot this is your fourth day
Without Wi-Fi, it must be tough
Not being able to inform
The web of your every move.
Aren’t you listening to the words
Of that corpse’s letter home
That are dripping from the sky
And burning me to the core
Like volcanic ash. I’m drowning.
There’s too much grief here,
Too many unspoken words
Of the thousands of bodies
Processed through this
Extermination factory
Who were forgotten by the world
That was too busy fighting itself.

Oh sorry;
I forgot that this place is torture
With its unpleasant smell;
The wind breathes of decay
Although they were all incinerated.
It’s the rot of hope
And your ignorant ideological world.
You’d better whip out your hand sanitizer
Because you touched that filthy door
And wash your hands of it all.
So sorry; you wouldn’t want
To walk off carrying
That uncomfortable dirt truth.
The odours are such a burden
To someone who wants to ignore
The atrocities and pretend
We never sinned.



School trip to a concentration camp... really cheery... gas chambers in the morning, shopping malls in the afternoon...

There's something not quite right about that.

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