The carpet

I saw a man this morning on the side of the road. He was besides his car boot open. Rows and rows of carpets, oriental rugs rolled up, side by side, in the car.  He was standing in front of this treasure and I stopped to watch as he weaved in, weaved out heavy wool string…

a four lettered word

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…