Hear the cold calls catching the wind, grasping at the nothingness that surrounds it. I'm feeling tired of wishing for a new day to begin; every morning drags the night from its bed and scalds the sunrise with a damp dew that doesn't really smell very nice.
Layouts change and people dither, waiting for a lift that might take them higher; to go up you've got to be at the bottom and it just can't get lower than this.
That lovely word - subarachnoid - or what about 'meninges'...they start to lose their meaning as they swirl around in the mind of a confused medical student who can't seem to decide whether he's actually enjoying the 'high' of drowning in the deep end (he's yet to touch the bottom of the pool) or if that same 'high' is the pre-syncopal warning sign that's actually screaming 'last call - last call - the gate is closing'...
Life is like an electrocardiogram. I never thought in any of my fits of fancy that I'd end up writing this, but here goes. P-wave: that first little bump that tells you something's wrong. QRS-complex: the hundred daggers plunging into your back as you writhe in a puddle. T-wave: cadaveric spasm, rigor mortis. Let's not get into the arrhythmias...
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