Thursday, 11 October 2012


Thursday Night

everyone's locked inside their boxes, or out for the occasional sex.
I have the kitchen to myself: its spacious, filled with used glasses and plates, real food and water,  as if there's actual people; living here. i sit down at the table after what seems years of being in that dark box, lying on that empty single bed, silence suffocated by the piercing sound of sirens. but its quiet now - here.
windows wide open - a scarlet cloudy sky unfolds as the smell of a calm cold breeze surrounds this thursday night.. the perfume of warm chamomile tea and bland cigarettes.
used to the darkness, i protect my eyes from this newfound light.


something arrived by post this morning. found it ripped open from its box, right infront of our door. no name on it - for whom or from who; or even who's curiosity stripped it and left it there. just a book lying alone.
none of the girls knew what this was about.

I stood in silence.


everyone's locked inside their boxes, or  out for the occasional sex. with sight still blurry, i sneak out the book and place it on the table next to the fireless cigarettes. It stares right back at me and i turn frail.

Its still quiet outside.
I wish the lights were dimmer.
This truth is blinding me.

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