The Wall of the Cave
You are just the wall of the cave. The scream can exist anywhere. Even in silence. Or through a euphonium or even placed carefully inside a bottle. I’d like to compare you to dirt. I imagine you getting under people’s nails when they try to find their way in the dark. But I know I am as much to blame for finding my way inside your tunnel.
Don’t you think she’s smeared it on quite thick? She’s smeared it around and around. I doubt she kept count of the number of times. That’s the sort of thing I’d want to know. I’d be very careful if that was me. She’s got mad eyes though. I’m sorry you have to work with her. There isn’t much privacy is there? That’s the trouble with open plan.
I walked past your house today. I could hear your guts. All the way through your window. Out into the street. Everyone starring and wondering what was making your insides spin round and round like a washing machine. A washing machine that was on fire. Imagine that, I said. But there was no need. Everyone was trying so hard not to think about it. They were really embarrassed.
Things are a bit quiet lately. I’m preparing some work for an MA application. So a lot of stuff isn’t being posted. Instead I’m deciding on images for my portfolio. Yes. All 22 followers. Watch this space and wish me luck.