Crackling

There's the distraction. A notebook with photos from teenage years. It keeps me awake.

The machine that heats up, and the crackling sound under my fingers.

This is what confusion looks like: movies in black and white, and tastes like: swallowing red lipstick, and smells like: ammonia, and feels like: leathery eye lashes.

I want to hear that sound again, the sound of sunrise.

Work, love and family are templates. Life is the settings. Edit.

The Notwist, Where in this World: