12 April 2012
I am here now sitting
Dry skin flecks float
Through the shafts of
Light creeping in the
Half closed curtain
As I run my hand across
My brow.
Dead flies cigarette butts
Overflowing bags of rubbish spill over to become indistinguishable from each other. Musty smell of the sealed tomb in which I force myself to live in. open a window buy a broom it sounds so easy if I could be bothered to move. I've got nothing left inside myself that I haven't yet already felt nothing that I need to find circular spinning forceful mind focus on sense of shame I have no one really else to blame.
The Death Of Myself • Opuss № I