Slacker


The blank page stares at him derisively. The rubber pickaxe thuds away on the inside of his head, creating bruises filled with guilt. He turns on some Massive Attack. The beauty empales him. The beauty empales the impaled.
He tries to get up and do something. He has lied to everyone that he would be sleeping. He didn’t. He needs to go to work in the morning. It’s about to be morning. He’ll find it hard to wake up.

He wants to escape to a silent island, where no lures follow him, where he can just lie down with his thoughts and die of hunger. He keeps thinking of this glorious death, when the silence distracts him. The song has stopped playing.
He changes the song, puts on Koop, starts to cry without tears, wonders why love has deserted him. The truth is, love never found him, it kept looking for him.

He wants to burn the money he has earned, money that has made him a prisoner. He wants to sleep free. He wants to meet love, only to punch him in the face, hug him, and hang on his shoulders. He sits down again, with a heavy head and a hollow heart, turns all the lights on and goes to sleep.

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