The stillness in the house is sending me passively insane.
It's silent claws digging in to my flesh, like an animal before consuming it's prey.
The consistent whirring and high pitched squeaks of the electricity powering our lives....
Full of agitation.
Cold water splashes and insistent stares into mirrors...We try and wake ourselves up to the reality of who we are.
We are mere specks, a particle of dust, of skin, laying on a glass tabletop...waiting to be wiped clean, or blown away, to another unobserved position... we like the anonymity...
The anonymous does not bear responsibility, and yet... we thrive to be known in our way, to be recognised, to be discovered, to be loved...
Like Matroshka dolls we want someone to find us and pull us into individual pieces discovering our layers of emotion one by one, and then putting us back together, again.
Disjointed, Awkward. the clock ticks, slicing the air, my heart in time... Tick. Tick. Tick.
With it's fanatical obsessive beat...
