HOME | DD

Description
Ever feel like you're drowning in words? They're rising up around your neck and choking the life out of you while the sky screams for mercy.

Mercy, you say? How about justice? How about something cold and hard for those who have done wrong? They need something unforgiving, like how the nightmares start the moment your head hits the pillow, like how life slams you into the ground when hope leaves your heart.

Is that what happened to you?

What?

Is what what happened to you? Did the world burn hope from your soul?

Me? Maybe it did. Maybe I'm old, bitter, a pretentious hypochondriac and a conjurer of phobias. Maybe I'm secretly scared of the dark and locked my precious things in a box and threw away the key to a sea of clichés. The world needed another hard soldier for justice so I met the demand. They probably have a word for it in economics. I've been reduced from purple to a colourless shell, but maybe that's okay. Maybe I don't want to feel any more.

So you've given up happiness for this? You've given up hope for the acceptance of misery? You couldn't just take joy in the sky and the smell of a loved one? You turned the clouds into a metaphor for your pessimism and moved to England where it rains all the time. Forget your expensive furs and chasing the perfect job. Find a nice bench instead and just waste an afternoon. Have faith.

Description
Ever feel like you're drowning in words? They're rising up around your neck and choking the life out of you while the sky screams for mercy.

Mercy, you say? How about justice? How about something cold and hard for those who have done wrong? They need something unforgiving, like how the nightmares start the moment your head hits the pillow, like how life slams you into the ground when hope leaves your heart.

Is that what happened to you?

What?

Is what what happened to you? Did the world burn hope from your soul?

Me? Maybe it did. Maybe I'm old, bitter, a pretentious hypochondriac and a conjurer of phobias. Maybe I'm secretly scared of the dark and locked my precious things in a box and threw away the key to a sea of clichés. The world needed another hard soldier for justice so I met the demand. They probably have a word for it in economics. I've been reduced from purple to a colourless shell, but maybe that's okay. Maybe I don't want to feel any more.

So you've given up happiness for this? You've given up hope for the acceptance of misery? You couldn't just take joy in the sky and the smell of a loved one? You turned the clouds into a metaphor for your pessimism and moved to England where it rains all the time. Forget your expensive furs and chasing the perfect job. Find a nice bench instead and just waste an afternoon. Have faith.