Before they come for me.

Wrote some of this yesterday. It was raining, so didn’t post it. Am just tidying the flat for the viewing, thought I’d read it again.

\\\\\\\\\

Yesterday:

Mortgage is due. I’m out of luck. Would’ve been fine if work gave a fuck. Would’ve been fine if I’d passed the interview test. Would’ve passed the test if that dog let me rest. There’s one thing to blame for all this mess, Fucking Princess.

Cause and effect. Bark and ruin. She wormed into my head and chewed through the wires.

Wore tights on my head last night. Saw an X post saying it blocks out noise. Laid there at 3 am, dressed like the Hamburglar, listening to screeching through the walls.

My job. My health. My prospects. All lost because of her campaign.

Have tried everything. Earplugs. Music. Booze. Tights. Writing.

Just want silence.

//////////////////////////////////////////

Today:

Must have been in a mood. Just wandering round the flat. Looking at the memories in every corner. My ghosts in the walls.

Laughter in the kitchen. Tears in the bedroom. Screams in the kitchen. Blood in the bedroom.

Found a cactus under the bed. Dead now.

Maybe Princess will shut her yap for twenty fucking minutes today. Please.

If the viewing goes well, I can sell. Disappear before they come for me. But she won’t let it. She wants everyone to know what I did.

Bark. Bark. Bark. The moment they step through the door., she’ll make sure they don’t want to live here.

Should’ve strangled her the day I failed the interview. Hours of planning. Pointless. She made it pointless.

Maybe they’re the kind of people who don’t care. Maybe they like noise.

Or maybe they’ll be like everyone else. They’ll hear her. See me. Smile politely. Leave.

No more pretending this isn’t my problem. No more waiting. Vamos.

previous