How terrible it must be to live in a room with not four walls, but seven.
Measuring no larger than an average sized elephant.
A plain magnolia existence and my carpet has never been vacuumed, well not since I have lived here anyway, their is no need to for it hides dirt so well.
I own, somehow, a television which sits upon an old white chair and it's black face stares at me longing to be turned on. Yet I refuse. I refuse to waste my time by watching nonsensical elaborations on life, David Attenborough is okay though despite.
No. Instead I choose to waste my time this way. Alone and troubled and allowing instance after instance of alcoholic indulgence to open the floodgates in my mind simply with attempt to calm such stormy thoughts and unwind, if only a little.
I have a window in my room, though such a large head barely fits out each time I smoke a cigarette and feels somewhat like a guillotine, sending shivers down my spine and all through my flesh. An incentive to quit smoking that's for sure!
However, I maintain. It is really only wood and glass anyway.
I have come to loathe the mirrors of this room, they remind me of that person who always waits eagrely behind a camera to capture and show you yourself in the most indigent of poses. It is quite ridiculous really.
When I close my eyes though I am surrounded by luscious green trees measuring as tall as the sun can reach.
And the grass on which I walk is such solace to my heart and welcoming, it feels like the grass that could exist within my soul. Sure would be nice to lay on it sometime, I imagine the feeling of intense nirvana and profound sleep.
The bed I rest upon in reality has fingers which would seek to poke and goad an unsound night out of each it's victims.
It does not matter though, I could always choose the floor. It is I who is the fool.
Both the king and the fool of this seven walled world.
R