She sits waiting. Changing in disgusting of ways.
Shadows follow her in the day, not in reflection but in gloom. They hide in her room.
It is the movement of her feet that irritates me. The tip and tap and hushing of her toes against the floor, she mutes the delicious pattern of life, with a boring disguise.
I feel nothing in her eyes.
She feels rotten in the most insidious way- hidden from view- pleasant enough to pick-yet you see it is rotten through. She has a monster and its large screams of need, vibrate in silent ecstasy.
They want company.
I told them, they couldn’t feed from me.
I wonder what she needs from me now.
She demands silence more than peace. It disgusts me.
I like silence.
The forced need to be silent is what frustrates me.
She begs you to consider what it means to be a moving form. She needs silence. She does not want me to talk, she meekly moves in space, chasing the forever of her ghastly ways. She is ghost. Even to herself, or perhaps she feels in perpetual ways. I can’t see her. I do not want to chase.
I feel disgust.
A beast that is nothing more than a foul musk. That is the sound of the person who needs to declare sleep, at 10pm. To a person like me- who cares for nothing other than dreams.
Photography by Klaudia Borowiec