I am emptied out. There is nothing left. No more words to come, the well is dry. The repetition drowns and suffocates, I gasp for a final breath, something to redeem. What is there? An empty space. A white room devoid of colour. What was there, is lost, lost into the washing machine. Splayed out on the clothes line, a body without limbs, lacking substance.
Dare the day to be fruitful. Dare the journey to the bank to be no other than what it was. Dare the supermarket and its ploy. Dare the words scrawled on my brain that baulk at my complacency. Drive along dear mother, drive on a road without lanes, drive down the middle and risk the collision. The crash is required, a jolt necessary.
Make the meal, prepare it with care. The colours are so vivid, the yellow courgette, the red pepper, the faint tinge of yellow in the ginger root, the translucent snow pea. Stir them all up and what do you get? A big stew of colours that have lost their definition in the mix. A collage of nothing that makes me squirm, that hungers for more.