Purple and pulsating was the room where I was waiting when then suddenly the walls began to speak, they said "go tell all your friends the world's coming to an end and they're all gonna be dead within a week". Well I flew out of that room on my mother's magic broom as the ground beneath my feet began to shake, and then as I flew I gasped as the cathedrals all collapsed and then all the children's bones began to break. And the sky split open and then fell through the ocean and the clouds couldn't swim and the fish couldn't fly. And watching from the moon with his husband and harpoon, God gave a clumsy chuckle and then he began to cry. 500 years later I'm still living in a crater that used to be Nailsea town square, and I still have no idea what made the whole world disappear and to tell the truth I still don't really care. And then one night from the sky came a confused quivering cry asking "where is all the war and all the sin?", well I stared into his soul and in his head I made a hole and yelled "Jesus where on God's earth you been?". He said "the world's just one big whale and it's fed up of swimming but it's not yet the end, it's a whole new beginning so take the poison from your tongue and away from your children and it might not blow us all out it's all impatient blowhole". And I will be still be singing when bits of time and space start flinging past my window and this whale's tired eyes. And one piece of advice, don't look up to the skies on the the day this time worn whale deflates and dies. And when the sky splits open and then falls through the ocean you're gonna have to learn to swim or you are gonna die. And we'll live underwater and God will rue the day he thought of giving life to planet Earth and then he'll let out a sigh

I know I'm more than this; I can do more than make shitty playlists. I could learn to play piano and pretend I'm talking to your ghost, but these fingers just refuse to play a thing; they spindle and decay into nothing. And I reach out to touch your face, but my hand falls straight through. And I don't know what kinds of songs to write, and I don't know what kinds of books to read, and I'm dangerously close to becoming a stereotypical anxty teen. Well do you still feel something, or do I mean nothing to you? It's just a simple wondering that's destroying me from inside out. But I've got to keep smiling, I can't just admit that I really fucking miss you and I feel like fucking shit. And I'd love to spill the contents of my thoughts onto you, but now is not the time - I'm wearing a fucking mariachi costume. And I'm one bad night away from turning my back on my faith and doing nothing but listening to I MIss You by Blink182. Pop punk hour is over and the moments gone (and who's to say what could have changed by September; you could be describing your fears of jam jars to someone else)

I don't quite remember you; I can't recall your face or voice, but I remember Guy Fawkes Night in your garden and my childlike wonderment at the explosions, and how you handed me a sparkler, and how it made me feel like a god, and how I wrote my name out in the air, amazed at each and every letter. That was my last memory of you, and I can't get it out my head, one day you're serving ginger biscuits, the next you're lying in a hospice bed. But this sparkler is still sparkling, and it spells out your name in my mind, and these fireworks will never fade. This sky was built for you.