loose threads from body politiq by SnakeAppleTree

The map burns in my pocket,
streets curl into smoke,
no compass left
only hunger with no measure,
a thirst that grows the more it drinks.

The sky hangs loose,
rules unstitched,
threads dangling from a coat
that never fit anyway.
Signs point nowhere.
Every promise frays.

Desire, feral and endless,
stalks the alleys,
snarling at limits that never arrive.
Even kings choke
when the crown is weightless.

It’s not rebellion,
not freedom
it’s the silence after the anthem,
the crowd scattered,
everyone clutching empty hands
that still reach for something
they cannot name.

This is the ghost town of meaning,
where laws collapse into dust,
and we wander restless
not wild, not free,
but unmoored,
drifting in the ruins
of vanished order.

• Alternative
• Goth
• Gothpunk
• Tribal
• Witch
• folk rock
• United Kingdom