Acomist
a stitch to wear
He's always tired tired tired and will never elaborate.
You ask Cathy but she just stares with large doe eyes, like she couldn't possibly explain. You're angry and you make her eat two sweet cakes before retreating into your room. You have work today but you don't feel the need; not today.
The office reminds you that you're dead. Well, dead to everything but paper and plastic and clean, glass windows. It stops the cigarettes and the kisses and the coffee-not-water and everything you've come to think of good in your life. The office blocks the fragile wrists and doe eyes and it blocks white spots on pale tongues and wheezy breathes in empty rooms; it ignores the bad and all you can think is 'deadline tomorrow' and 'meeting on tuesday.'
You stay home and stare at a picture of Big Ben. London has always felt like home though you couldn't possibly imagine being there; it's your name and your home and it's safe and you drift off to a palace burnt into your eyelids for the second night in a row.
It's not like he.
You ask Cathy but she just stares with large doe eyes, like she couldn't possibly explain. You're angry and you make her eat two sweet cakes before retreating into your room. You have work today but you don't feel the need; not today.
The office reminds you that you're dead. Well, dead to everything but paper and plastic and clean, glass windows. It stops the cigarettes and the kisses and the coffee-not-water and everything you've come to think of good in your life. The office blocks the fragile wrists and doe eyes and it blocks white spots on pale tongues and wheezy breathes in empty rooms; it ignores the bad and all you can think is 'deadline tomorrow' and 'meeting on tuesday.'
You stay home and stare at a picture of Big Ben. London has always felt like home though you couldn't possibly imagine being there; it's your name and your home and it's safe and you drift off to a palace burnt into your eyelids for the second night in a row.
It's not like he.