To a strange humour that will soon evaporate; along with the rest.

Public House Enemies

Can you hear them now? Calling in the corners, muttering in the distance, always on the edge of hearing, distant yet ever constant. You can't hear them, only I can; hear them. So sad, little whispers on the edge of consciosuness, always present, calling me. Listen, listen.

I want to kill him, I want to kill him. From across the room, he called my other name, the one that cuts to the quick, the one that shaves me so deep. Sharp, sherds of memory slicing through time