Winter sun failings, creep across a tired carpet. Shafts of not quite light. You pick at it and wait. silent as Bonnie Prince Billy laments on Spotify, and you Rolodex reasons not to end a life. So many more media to be shunned through. So many more to worry at the scab of your insecurities. You pick at it and wait. Make another cup of coffee. Take another leak.
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Check your empty emails, turn the other cheek. Count your blessings and turn them into curses. Because they are all you have. The light is reaching your feet now. There are flavourless rice cakes in the cupboard if you want them. Doesn’t the electric, static silence, often make you wonder if dying is as simple as just flicking a switch?
