8 March 2013
I wish I could climb these duvet mountains.
Escape the wallpaper that threatens to blind me.
Run free of the raindrops and sweat that salivate from the dirty city.
I want to breath the clean air of us again, in the glaring sunlight of my rising mania.
Instead I lie in wait at base camp, asphyxiated by the notion of my city as a spectre.
A spectre haunting my shadow, clanging around behind me.
I long for the day when corrupt capitalism stops eating my flesh and drinking my blood dry.
When it stops trading in my unions and smashing my health.
I dream of jumping from the fiscal cliff and plummeting onto the jagged rocks of endemic crisis perched so majestically below.
The sky is falling down, but the louder I squawk, the quicker it comes, descending like a black curtain across the duvet mountains crippling my soul.
Duvet Mountains. • Opuss № I