The Days Bleed Together

The days bleed together – streams of muted colour, lamp yellow, sky blue, all washing down one canvas. The fading days divided by broken sleep with only the flies for company. Whisky through the night, and a fridge as empty as the hole in my shoes. Two-minute noodles and electronic music, quietening the dark as …

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When they aren’t maddeningly silent, as they often pretend, I sit and I listen trying to hear what they have to say. I write it down and twist it this way and that, trying to shape it in to something suitable for their purposes. I try to finish before the irriating little fellow with the …

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