It follows me. Nags me. Tortures me.
Until I forgot where I am.
Until the end. I have no idea when that will be.
It’s everywhere.
It never stops. And all the while, I feel the strings tugging, restricting not my breath, but my control. They call it self destruction, I heard.
The control.
The lack of.
The spiralling out of control.
I just want to feel what everyone is talking about. So far, I feel it webbing away. Slowly, slowly. And for once, I am letting myself drown with it.
Just some thoughts from the train ride back earlier this week. And in Paris we came across this abandoned bicycle. So there… enjoy.
The Teapot and the Postbox 
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