The scraps are gone. A lone potato lays bereft of all company,growing old,ugly with its desire to shoot and sprout ugly growths on its leathered looking skin.
How many days has it been? Or is it hours only that I live with in this place, in this solitude.
How long has it been,since he came last.
I hear nothing in this barren wilderness. I hear voices, echoes and sounds from another life in the maelstom of my brain cells...the memory outlets open up on me...flickering tantalising images of another world.....another me...
Where is he?