The beeping alarm rings in the dawn, another night of disturbed sleep and fitful dreams fade away as the shimmering light of a new day slowly creeps into the room.
The morning chorus does little to calm the troubled mind of this restless soul. A lethargic limb gingerly reaches out to silence the bleating alarm, hairs stand to attention over goosebumped skin as the cold morning air floods through the cracked window.
The quietened alarm echoes momentarily and the finite silence is shattered as a myriad of plastic bottles hit the hard wood floor, each one filled with the promise of happiness, contentment, optimism, wellbeing and peace of mind, each of them ending in zine or zol, mine or pine, pin or pram, names almost to large to fit the tattered worn label on each bottle of proposed bliss.
And so the daily chore begins curled in and ball in a quilted mothers womb, listening to the rhythmic pulse of a tired and lonely heart.. wishing it would just stop so he wouldn’t have to commit to the facade, put on that happy face that fake smile to pass as normal to get through another day surrounded by others but feeling truly alone....
