Club Shrapnel

There is cell death in everything tonight – in the bass-lines and the double-pedal drum. In the dancer in tights and trainers. Cell death in the lights that cut thought the smoke, spilled beer puddles and trampled plastic pint-pots. Cell death in the man by the ticket office with glitter in his hair. Cell death through the metal detectors at the door. Cell death in the fine hairs at the back of my neck and on the shoulders of the two punks kissing in the dark. A pressure vessel without a relief valve. Cell death buckling flesh that holds me together. Cell death euphoria as the club bursts open.

– Benjamin F Jones
There is cell death in everything tonight.

Cell death in the fine hairs at the back of my neck.

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About Graphite Bunny

I am a writer working in South Wales (UK). I love pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains I catch drops in my open mouth. I create poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots and humorous fiction.
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8 Responses to Club Shrapnel

  1. Brilliantly written, although I’d rather avoid that type of shrapnel myself. as am too old and off it for that sort of thing these days.

  2. This piece describes perfectly how I feel right now.

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