I take another sip of the stale, tepid water from the same plastic bottle I’ve been grasping all week. The screen slowly flickers as the machine churns up once more, like a thousand damaged lungs breathing in tandem.
I avoid these creeping morning conversations; the rise of the eyebrow is enough a signal for most. The ones I fear most however, manage to stock up their reserves, like bloated bubbles of negativity, that never seem to burst.
I attempt to flex my fingers free of the weekend cramps. Once again they fall free from any control I try to sustain. Those filth covered keyboards and broken chairs become my drunken conductors; a symphony of absolute nothingness.
Jonathan Butcher is a poet based in Sheffield. He has had poems appear in various print and online publications including Popshot, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Elbow Room, Amaryllis and others. His second chapbook, Broken Slates, has been published by Flutter Press.