malas mau cuci piring part one.

and yet I still creep into empty drawers, and hide between the cracks on walls with the very aching desire to be momentarily detached from my senses, for time to fall into a brief slumber, to be the lingering absence, to simply be the non existent. an attempt to leak through the holes of this fractured reality.
A rather complicated case of escapism, an escape from inevitable confrontations with harsh realities, days of arid monotony in which I, we, you and me feed from relentless tides of mechanical flattery that gradually decomposes into mere nothingness, only leaving holes, hollow holes. And we never cease to fill those holes with obscure objects, intangible feelings, and vague impressions from strangers with faces pale as milk.