Doom. Impending doom.
It's filling up spaces around me. And quicker than you can imagine. In the mornings, it presses down on me. It smothers me like a TV show murderer. In the nights, it lies down next to me and slowly begins to jab fingers into my back as I try and sleep.
It follows me around like a jilted lover and when I scream, noiselessly, on trains or elevators, it looks shocked that I have such a negative reaction.
In bus queues and cafeterias, it presents me with people I'd rather not meet. People with plans. People who have no idea for whose team they're batting, but they play well anyway. Because, you know, just in case.
My doom is a contradiction. It's shapeless yet concrete and inadvertent yet direct.
On empty days, it sits on my back - like that dreaded monkey.
It's filling up spaces around me. And quicker than you can imagine. In the mornings, it presses down on me. It smothers me like a TV show murderer. In the nights, it lies down next to me and slowly begins to jab fingers into my back as I try and sleep.
It follows me around like a jilted lover and when I scream, noiselessly, on trains or elevators, it looks shocked that I have such a negative reaction.
In bus queues and cafeterias, it presents me with people I'd rather not meet. People with plans. People who have no idea for whose team they're batting, but they play well anyway. Because, you know, just in case.
My doom is a contradiction. It's shapeless yet concrete and inadvertent yet direct.
On empty days, it sits on my back - like that dreaded monkey.
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