TXT

Right now it's very late and I'm thinking about a few things. I can hear my air conditioner spluttering out uncannily cool air in waves. The blister on my heel stings unforgivingly but I don't cringe because no-one's watching. Remnants of fabric cut outs pepper the carpet and I can almost watch open tins of paint slowly dry out and suffocate. I am mindful of the huntsman spider in the far corner becoming increasingly active as the night groans on, and the faster he runs the slower my lids close heavy. A compliment passed on sings me to sleep but the heartbeat it drives me mad.