Everything I do is he same. Polishing, rebuilding, re-editing, and trying to bring out a shine that seldom goes beyond an unnoticeable glimmer.
When I was younger I was angry and isolated, and now on the other side of ten years I see the same toxins still slithering through the crowded square of my life. It’s like ink scratched on my skin with the nails of a madman, that doesn’t need to be retouched as I age and try to forget about what I’ve lived and what I haven’t. New eyes are drawn to it without fail no matter how hard I try and paint over it with my favourite shade of blue.
So, the week ends with another push in the name of what I don’t want, don’t love, and don’t believe in. All in the name of a day that may never come.