squall

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My noggin is in all sorts of disarray; something is bound to break. Something about the smell of empowerment. Haunted by thoughts of my father's midlife crises long ago coinciding with mine. Something about the uncertainty of not knowing. Something about wanting to deny duress to take hold of darker urges, wherever this soulsucking hoover takes the dustbag for discarding. The strain of work and life licking and gustating the peripheries of my senses, doing my head in.

Something about a child; something about bald dickheads; something about love; something about money; something about adulthood.

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