Everything is being moved further away from my fingertips.
A strange new world of distance, of Perspex, of wipe clean reality.
I am wrapped in plastic, covered in warped waves.
All tangibility lost in the forward momentum.
Outlawed and on the run, seeking choice and tactile experiences.
Looking down from where old men come to die,
watching the world go by from behind bullet proof glass.
I’ve grown weary of stroking black plastic, but it has only just begun.