The Art of Nothing

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There is nothing to say, she laughs. The door swung on it’s hinges, uncertain whether to open or close. The window, wide-eyed, allowed the light to enter, but only with a certain discretion. Cicadas screamed. Over-ripe figs fell to the ground. The walls bared their souls. And the day passed away.

 

 

 

 

 

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Shattered Silence

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There is nothing here but this piano and an odd odour left by the past inhabitants. I have escaped from my prison and I play like a mad woman. Silence shatters on solid floor. Light breaks on fragile skin. I am ready to penetrate the abyss and enter your world. It matters not if this is present, future or past.