Thinking nothing.
Seeing nothing.
This is how I've spent my last few months. Only it's more noticeable now that I don't have the heavy 'clack-clack' of the shutter of a camera as white noise.
There is no more cancel out. Just cancelled.
I like it that way.
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Reaching for the bottoms of my pockets, I trudge along Clinton street, fearful of anyone who looks like they might want to speak to me. It's not as if I've suddenly grown afraid of them, just tired of them.
An empty shell amongst emptier shells. Still reaching for the bottom of my never-ending pockets. I don't know what it I've been trying to grasp. Anything. All perceptions of reality have failed me, except for the lint.
Letting the fog from my empty skull clear, I realized I've trudged the 20 blocks back to the 6 train. Without even knowing it.
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Sleeping has been a similar experience.
The stomping upstairs continues; Only it belongs to someone else now.
4am. Shuffling. Stomping. Pounding of a beat on my head.
Counting backwards from 10.
Deep breaths.
Pillow over my face.
Finally, I notice it.
The sticky downpour outside will be the only way out. As if you'd ever think that the sound of pennies covered in maple syrup would ever help.
After listening to them drool down the buildings and fall into the pit of garbage outside my window for what seems like an hour, Im finally able to drift off into another nightmare.
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