A sabbatical from life; that grating, wearing away machine. The propping up of the drooping facial equipment is the carrying of an super-incumbent weight, crushing all torsos without organs; leaving abstract constructions echoing in a cranium, a raw reality, too much, a glossy trail as it soaks in.
The hiding, behind a dark room, where gods appear and steal away the fright imposed by those other lips, but something left behind. Utter indifference is the new world of my nightmares and the walls and the ceiling are all part of it, they seem like a scream that cannot be melted out.
Three weeks in this stasis and the world rolls on with my character following on behind and no one knows of the webbed images hanging before my eyes.
Then the collapse inwards, an escape contraption thrown into engaged, deeper, deeper and everything vanishes; wallowing in that prickly void that is me, with all the hateful and needy creatures, somewhere there is a laughter, always elsewhere.
A morning and opening lids seem to reveal an impossible unity, its a beginning as there are legs growing from the stumps and standing is more a possibility. Small steps further from the bed wedded with a dark sway and slowly, with an unsteady hand, the laughter is written with my feet and the bubbling to the surface is everything that matters.
The days come on, all with details slightly eschew, and the weight is a dispersing crowd with an ever subtle commotion. Something slipping by unnoticed then forgotten.
