deadforhours

I feel hot, like summer is creeping into my veins. My computer hums with its eternal electric voice and life seems as if it's wrapped tightly around my skin. But I dont want to take my shoes off just in case I want to go somewhere, fast. I'm drowning under a sea of messy clothes, one on top of the other. And there's never enough space for my things; these things I pull out from my head. I need to paint these walls in multicoloured bold circles and motifs from an english tea plate. With bambi in its center. These veins are my wires connecting me

to air.

I've got insects in here, I don't even know how they got in and I don't want to drink because it will only make me hotter. The further away you are the more I feel you. I wait for that letter like I did when I waited for my absentee list. I see the mailbox, all the time . I know, it's outside my window. I'm sharpening knives.


I'm missing you. Whoever you are.