sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired
You are covered in blood, because a crime has been committed here.
It's on the knees of your pants and the palms of your hands and specked along your glasses, but perhaps that's an illusion or an exaggeration. The walls bleed and the clock ticks and the oranges sit innocuously, like a basket of eyes. A witness.
Witnesses. Are there any? You think the only one there might have been ended up masquerading as a victim instead. "Ready or not, here I come." Your murmurs sound like velvet on barbed wire, like a match striking to hide the evidence.
Reaching, groping, you lift the rug to examine the body. "Are you guilty?" you ask it.
It's on the knees of your pants and the palms of your hands and specked along your glasses, but perhaps that's an illusion or an exaggeration. The walls bleed and the clock ticks and the oranges sit innocuously, like a basket of eyes. A witness.
Witnesses. Are there any? You think the only one there might have been ended up masquerading as a victim instead. "Ready or not, here I come." Your murmurs sound like velvet on barbed wire, like a match striking to hide the evidence.
Reaching, groping, you lift the rug to examine the body. "Are you guilty?" you ask it.
FINN
