Memory fades around the edges, I try to remember faces but they all blur into sickly greens and stormy greys. Sometimes I feel like l am watching myself in a kaleidoscope, I am both the inside and the outside, mirroring false infinities into the dull edges of broken glass. I drill holes inside my skull and I can't decide if I like what I see. It's a lot like how the new-age poets imagine hell in to be, empty and full of smoke. Most days, I would have it no other way but some days stand out from the sea of white, the colour of a friend's shirt, a forgotten perfume, the voice of a kind stranger on the bus, a number I can't call anymore. I can't decide what is the inside and what is on the outside, I don't know which side is which. I am fading on both ends, the lights are on, credits roll, the movie ends. I only wanted to be a song, but the hall has to be cleared for the next show. Its all show business, baby. I hold out my mediocrity in all the shades of colour that I can think of. Darling, do you hate what you see, like I do?
