Naysayer

His words tap-dance on your skull; typebars that meaninglessly thrash down on your empty

platen.

They rattle your paper-thin frame, and suddenly you feel like you’re down two lungs and your

heart is out on loan.

Whispers which slink softly and deftly through the cannon-fire-barrage that is your train of

thought.

Your internal slideshow of memory and reasoning is projected on him. Each click and slide-shift

is a moment where it is just you and him.

In the darkness of the covered bulb, the sensation leaves you, the separation awarded by his

visage.

In the darkness you’re suddenly one