The curtains open and another day begins.
Up go the blinds, down go the feet, and the treadmill is presented.
Step upon it willingly, resignedly, fatally.
On go the haunting hours, speaking to none but strangers, if at all.
Muffling the internal shrieking, stifling the wooden cracking and splintering of a breaking heart,
Until a silent shell remains.
The images, the smells, the noise, the stupid audiences and stupid performers.
A bar, a film, a bit of TV, tasteless nourishment.
Sleep, if at all.
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