There's a knocking going on. I've tried to ignore it. Squashed a pillow over my head to suffocate it, but I can't get away from it. It taps through the threads of the sort of thing that an ex could do and that is follow you wherever you dared to flee. It's driving me crazy and even though I try to ignore, it insists on having its fun as it beats on my door.
It sounds like when the dice are thrown across the floor, kinda soft like that but then a little more louder and sturdier like knuckles on oak or the drop of a token on a polished bar counter. I guess what it amounts to is that no one else can hear it, so they've told me I'm little loose up there and there's nothing to fear, just to steer clear of hallucinogens and especially the old whiskey and the occasional beer.
I can still feel it thumping through my feet and the bottom of my padded seat, this tenderizing-meat-sound, that's all in the air and swirls around till I'm thinking there's just going to be nothing left…
Ah. So we finally meet, Death.
Photo credit: fieryn from morguefile.com