birdshadows and the lonesome distant rumblings of the FDR encourage me to distance from myself and retreat into the reverberations of yesterday, where days of the week have no meaning and clocks tell you to leave the Cage, to get a breath of fresh air, breathe in life and exhale pain, Anger, Anxiety, Depression, Shame, Happy, Misery, Sadness, Hopelessness...there’s nothing like the feeling of uncertainty, the eeriness of silence. Legends sing to me through my headphones, the days seem longer as life gets shorter, leaving me with anxiety–but legends die Young, so I hope to Die, and my final meal would be Quiet, because I see my past everywhere. I feel my brain turning into Play-Doh, drizzling out of my nostril in long coils, I’m too paranoid they tell me, I’m hungry I say, and you’re tired so why does Insomnia crack your ankles awake? Everytime always I murder the sheep instead of counting them, because my bed spring is broken and it creaks when I cry myself to sleep, seeing trapezoidal pain boxes and phantom highwaymen laughing at me through the cracks in between silences, leaking particles of fading brickwork beaten back by waves of children playing against time and the rain.
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