Westminster Chime

It’s in these half empty glasses of lukewarm drinks that you find the reminiscent smell of loneliness. When time and everyone are gone. You can still find silence there even when cars go by. Early mornings.
You feel tired.
Your body is broken.
But you are not distracted. The clocks ticking, the post-it notes of death, everywhere in the house.

When you were a child your grandfather had a clock on the wall. It woke you up late at night with its scary imitation of the Westminster Chime. You cried in panic for being so small amidst the old dark furniture. You had nightmares.

Now you are exhausted. You can’t sleep.
You just run around the idea of resting – finally – and stop insisting with Youth. Never happy as in Teenage Wasteland.

Not again.

You light a cigarrette. You lie in bed.

You don’t dream.