Inch by Inch You Closing In

Every day there's the thought, the seed of questioning the importance of existence.

Inching in without a warning you suddenly see yourself playing out a scene: sitting in an armchair, writing out the words before the act, the hurt and feelings outpoured, on a thin piece of paper; teary-eyed listening to the beats of the 70s folk playing the last note, to which you splat on the ground below.