It is a soft sound, cringing, tingling, but setting off alarm bells. It's like that there should be a music box playing away, with it's crackled tune and it's broken dancer who lost all of her hope in cruel reality.
Crack, crack, crack.
It is mundane and repeated enough for people to want to blank out and their minds would slowly forget this sound, this mysterious sound that goes unidentified in the head, and it is present, forever so, in the form, or maybe, form isn't the right word, of a numbing pressure people liked to call a 'headache'.
It's strange though, because 'headaches' tend to cause pain and this pressure does nothing.
Somewhere, somehow, there's a contradiction. It crawls under your skin and make you feel alien. It's not your skin any more. It's invaded by these alien emotions and you hate the fact that they slowly aren't so alien any more. You realise you're getting used to it. Your skin is no longer as thick as you remember. Or care to remember.
The sound turns into a mild scratching now, and it almost pains your ears to the point you feel that 'headache', but that's only almost.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
What it is scratching at, you're not so sure. Old canvas with caked, dry paint? A wooden table?
Or is it your head?
This is your turning point. This is the moment when you choose. This is the moment where no one is going to tell you, resent you, hate you, break bonds with you for the choice you will make tonight.
Your lips are dry.
You dig into your pocked and smear the lip cream on.
You lick you lips, and that's when you realise it's not enough.
You want more.
And your mouth is dry, and your hair isn't washed, and you look a mess. Musicians work hard, and they grin and bare it for the sake of it.
But what is 'it'?
It's too tiring to think more about it, it hurts that pressure on your head.
Your hand is trembling, and the whiteness of the pills in your hand looks not too different with the backdrop of your pale, pale skin. There isn't a lot in your hands, and this passes through your brain.
You suddenly become aware of the chair you are sitting on, the bar you are probably in, the violin case resting somewhere you're not so sure of, the grin on the savage men who look forward to seeing your downfall, and then – and then -
You take them all at once.
this is going to be a pot future project, if it all turns out well. They are going to be random, but I think they'll all be dark. Idk if this is going to continue, if i'm honest.
