by Noise Pollution

There’s a little man inside my head, and he’s falling off a cliff.

Sometimes he’s screaming. Sometimes he’s not.

But he’s always falling. And even at his calmest, the dread of his inevitable and sudden demise looms over him. And the sensation of falling isn’t in and of itself very pleasing, either.

Right now, he’s screaming. Soon he’ll just be scared.

But he’ll always be there.