Gray. Literally. The walls were gray. An environment seemingly designed to crush its inhabitants. And of course there were no windows, not that you could see from your ergonomically designed chair. The darkness of broken bulbs would have been a blessing, but the fluorescents reliably flickered flickered flickered unflattering gray light onto unhappy gray walls.
Gray, gray, gray. It was enough to drive anyone crazy. So why only me? Maybe it was just enough to drive me crazy. I should quit projecting. But it just makes me feel so much better to believe you're all a bunch of fuckin' nutjobs.
The balloons are back. They're falling to the concrete instead of escaping to the sky. The balloons are jumping from the ledges. Suicidal. Or maybe just looking for their lost children.
Why so much running in my sleep? Sometimes I'm the predator. Sometimes the prey. But there's always to be a hunt.
This night I do the stalking.
They were my companions. I thought. Friends. But they're hiding something. Hiding their plans and hiding from me.
Most nights I follow ghosts of voices but stray to different worlds. My past, sometimes. Others... Theirs? The future? Why do you show me this? Doesn't matter. This night I do the stalking.
She thinks I can't see. But I do, I do. I've planted some sadness to gratify you. This is what you want? The tears, on cue. Here. Believe you've found what validates you. Does it hit that secret void and fit? This is the bitch that stays locked in your ribs.
You think you know me but you haven't got a clue. You think you know me but I see right through you. I think you think you're safe uncloaked. But I see your face. I hope you choke.
6 comments:
Very nice!
This is the type of thing which makes me come back.
Thank you.
(The balloons are brilliant.)
I had a period about a year ago with the whole predator/prey scenarios. Unfortunately I was usually the prey.
I was so thankful when they went away. I was tired of waking up so...tired.
Thanks.
I find the whole chase pattern a little disturbing, but am glad I'm not always the prey.
I also dream about big tin buildings in the middle of nowhere a lot. Who put this building here?
Double yikes.
Is there a strumming to go with that last part?
Something that draws blood, perhaps.
More wine. Yes, yes. More wine.
And no more David Lynch for a while. Too many lamp-builders about as it is...
Amy, I have to confess, I hear "Hey Bulldog" in my head.
Post a Comment