Tasty Rob Recipes

There are no words left to say.
No voices.
No words left to echo through orange words. No reason left. No sabres of light. No metaphor. All quiet low sounds drifting through windows and back out, leaving no trace, making no impression. Hard mattress, lined with cold metal, breaking the spine, disturbing the peace. No loss. No sacrifice. No leaps out of windows. No broken limbs, no snap, no bleeding onto the concrete, no staring blankly out onto stars.

There is nothing that matters now. No billboards. No adverts. No celebrities. No television. No music.

______________________

It's all sand to me. All that sun. It's beating down and bursting capillaries, the red glow of summer on Earth, amid the rooms, and buildings and towers. Faces stare down angrily. Distorted. Phonetic.