where are we? what the hell is going on? the dust has only just begun to form
crop circles in the carpet, sinking feeling. spin me round again
and rub my eyes, this can’t be happening.
when busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy
hide and seek.
trains and sewing machines
all those years, they were here first
oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the takeover,
the sweeping insensitivity of this still life, hide and seek
trains and sewing machines (oh, you won’t catch me around here)
blood and tears (hearts)
they were here first
ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut outs
speak no feeling no I don’t believe you
you don’t care a bit,
you don’t care a bit

Hide and seek, Imogen Heap