Something I’ve been working on for Uni

Cut coloured glass distorted forms of people pacing past. Everyone’s got somewhere to be.

Except me.

The sour smell of last night’s beer and this morning’s bleach made it a comfortable start to the week.

Weeks of time passing all merged into one. The 5/2 split of days to live is just a social construct to instigate when you’re allowed to have fun.

Flowers wilted, my head tilted.

Bubbles fought past their brothers to congregate with others, in a foam topping the beer I sipped alone.

Nothing was happening.

Nothing ever happened.

On the precipice of my familiar black hole of despair I was pulled back by a soft, wet cracking from behind.

I turned around, trying not to be too loud because I liked this corner with it’s dim, protective shroud.

In the middle of the floor was a gelatinous puddle, spreading slowly outwards, carrying with it brittle shards of pale shell.


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