MJM
19th December 2002, 21:42
Each step is like a stake through my heart, but I move on forever. The madman behind me's been on my trail for over ten years now. He lives forever, pays for his immortality with his victims eyelids "Twenty years a pop" he brags at the bar.
Sought a tapestry to paint, the walls orange brown flakes chipped around the bottom, floorboards creak with the thought of steps. Flights flicker, strobe light disco the street outside alive. Hear conversations I can't quite hear, a bang, a slam. All around the scent of bread, warm white bread, a simple pleasure. Architecture winces at itself, a poor imposter without delusions of granduer. At least there's a mirror to check I'm still alive, stared hard for over four hours. Elephants dance across the curtains, I'm living in ten decades at once. Any minute a horse could whinny and the gunslinger could approach.
Never liked the blue desk, sits softly in a pastel corner. The radiator bulges like a steroid bicep ready to pump iron heat to my bones.
A hundred coat hangers of different generations hang in the open closet, no skeletons to see today.
A TV goes rolling in the background, game show night it seems.
A bed it is I sit on it, refuge for a night, it almost feels alive, an island with it's own agenda. The carpet could only be dark blue/green once upon a time, nows it's proud in a strange way, who knows whos walked here before. The headboard's large, an imposter, an 80's marble copy two shelves on either side stand out like guns on a battle ship. The world surrounds me with strange new light switches, everyone has to be themselves.
The blankets hard, I imagine my neighbours have no curtains, perhaps it's a strange trick someones playing. There's a chair and a stool.
A chair and a stool of a classic 90's design, brash wood with hard blue cushions. The ceilings so white I imagine it's virginal, never been fondled by the eyes of lovers. There's a phone, it's funny how when you have no-one to call they always seem so appealing. I know there's a bathroom white and peach and blue and a dash of red in the corner, it's good to shit alone.
I consider lining up the mirrors together to see if I could glimps infinty.
The light shade's a globe frosted white, 50's granduer we love to hate. The beside lamps stick out on 70's brass struts, little white penal switches on their bottoms.
A pair but I know they've never seen each other before "Hi left meet right, Hi right meet left"
Hitler by the arch de triumph.
It's a sturdy door I hope, the darkness outside is thick and heavy.
(Edited by MJM at 9:45 am on Dec. 20, 2002)
Sought a tapestry to paint, the walls orange brown flakes chipped around the bottom, floorboards creak with the thought of steps. Flights flicker, strobe light disco the street outside alive. Hear conversations I can't quite hear, a bang, a slam. All around the scent of bread, warm white bread, a simple pleasure. Architecture winces at itself, a poor imposter without delusions of granduer. At least there's a mirror to check I'm still alive, stared hard for over four hours. Elephants dance across the curtains, I'm living in ten decades at once. Any minute a horse could whinny and the gunslinger could approach.
Never liked the blue desk, sits softly in a pastel corner. The radiator bulges like a steroid bicep ready to pump iron heat to my bones.
A hundred coat hangers of different generations hang in the open closet, no skeletons to see today.
A TV goes rolling in the background, game show night it seems.
A bed it is I sit on it, refuge for a night, it almost feels alive, an island with it's own agenda. The carpet could only be dark blue/green once upon a time, nows it's proud in a strange way, who knows whos walked here before. The headboard's large, an imposter, an 80's marble copy two shelves on either side stand out like guns on a battle ship. The world surrounds me with strange new light switches, everyone has to be themselves.
The blankets hard, I imagine my neighbours have no curtains, perhaps it's a strange trick someones playing. There's a chair and a stool.
A chair and a stool of a classic 90's design, brash wood with hard blue cushions. The ceilings so white I imagine it's virginal, never been fondled by the eyes of lovers. There's a phone, it's funny how when you have no-one to call they always seem so appealing. I know there's a bathroom white and peach and blue and a dash of red in the corner, it's good to shit alone.
I consider lining up the mirrors together to see if I could glimps infinty.
The light shade's a globe frosted white, 50's granduer we love to hate. The beside lamps stick out on 70's brass struts, little white penal switches on their bottoms.
A pair but I know they've never seen each other before "Hi left meet right, Hi right meet left"
Hitler by the arch de triumph.
It's a sturdy door I hope, the darkness outside is thick and heavy.
(Edited by MJM at 9:45 am on Dec. 20, 2002)