In the dead of night, when nobody is awake, my soul starts to dread the tiny slithers of light that are bound to shed through the clouds at any given moment. The light marks the beginning of a new day, and with each one passing, one can't help but feel the cruel, harsh reality that we live in a routine lifestyle sink in. Our lives are dictated to us by the passing of the sun. The hours between the darkness descending and the light shining through are just as lively as a corpse. Everyone's gone, the next day is creeping closer to you. Deadlines that haven't been met, people you don't want to see, it all comes to mind with a sudden cold reality that is as welcome as a knife in the eye. We all become broken products of routine; routine ruins.
Kindest Regards,
Tofu xy
OMG, I totally get what your saying, it's a bit like the Dylan Thomas poem about time and shit, a little. Really well told with a great mood and cool metaphors. Awesome!
ReplyDeleteSam