The cold bites away at already frost bitten toes while my tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth. My eyes are trained on the only source of light, the ever so bright sight of moving pictures; the modern marvel of television. They are meaningless sitcoms, containing characters nobody has ever been in “real life”. The noise goes in one ear and out the other. The shows are only there to provide different shades of lighting, pseudo-creative illumination for my mockumentary. Are the walls closing in around? No, rest assured, it is only the sound of your own hollow breath being caught up in your chest, no longer reaching your lungs, stopping the process of turning oxygen into carbon monoxide. Brain cells die. One by one by one by one… This really is a never ending process…
Another day, another night, another wasted chance, another series of calls to apologize for the fuck-up that is me.
That little light from your lampshade 