April
Winter

     You wake in a quiet ocean of white 800 thread count. The garage door squeals like laughing dolphins as your husband begins his commute to work. You lay there with no immediate yearning to move, you float on, stranded in your apathy. When your body urges you out of bed on the verge of bed sores, you drink the cold sludge of your husbands left over coffee out of the pot and lean on the open door frame of your front door in your silk slip.

     You try to ignore your neighbours trying to ignore you. You light a cigarette because you know that someone will tell someone and you find their petty gossip amusing. The smoke is wispy and joins the clouds in joyous freedom. As the caffeine slowly electrifies your veins your eyes start to see the cracks in your illusion, the roses aren't as red as they were, curtains close quickly, the sound of seized brakes scream on clean paved streets. you notice someone else pretending not to watch you watching. A flock of speed walking women go by, their tight, sweaty concentration is revolting. You use your silky slipper with your tiny manicured toes sticking out to stub out your cigarette.

     You turn back into your cardboard mansion, surprisingly slow as if all your blood had coagulated in that moment. Your furniture once made of solid oak now fidgets like jello, comfortably melting in the summer heat. You grab the burrow to steady your own limp legs. The distance between your eyes and your hands seem to grow at what should be an alarming rate. your heart is so slow you cant feel anything but the creeping grin that curls from ear to ear. Your fingers are full of helium and float away right out the front door leaving you with a breeze in your hair.

     Things were ordinary for so long you’re losing touch with what is reality and what is a picture book fantasy. Your boredom rots deep into your mind. Your existential day dream has become your reality and unfortunately your decent into madness is rather mundane.