Time Of Dissection And Infatuation

I hear the soft sound of a whistle, it is distant, almost as if its like the wind passing by the woods. Yet, my gut tells me not to listen to that thought as I bring the lukewarm tea cup from my now wettened lips to the countertop as my eyes narrow and eyebrows furrow. I am alert and aware of it all surrounding me. I can feel myself flinch and dart my eyes as any little mild creak whines through the shallow halls of my dark home, the whistling feels nearer than before. My tired eyes dart in every possible direction all at once as I feel myself slide down into a corner that is hidden behind furniture, somewhere I barely remember sliding into. My mind is rushing, my brain is chattering non stop like a noisy television playing static and my body trembles with exhaustion as I grip my messy and tangled hair in between my cold, bony fingers that seem to grow more red as the whistling eerily slides smoothly past my walls and halls. It has grown all too near, and it feels as if it had the potential of ripping me out of my corner. Yet it doesn’t, but even that doesnt stop me from my heart clattering against my emaciated chest as my lips and eyes grow dry. My teeth dig into the very bone of my knee yet i cannot feel the wretched agony amongst this enormous fear of everything that seems to be speaking about me, cruelly making joking comments on my curled up and bony body that wont stop shaking no matter. It feels as if they find fondness in making a stray, starving hound be beaten to the pulp. Its torture, pure human cruelty at its finest. Yet we cannot do much about it in this sinful place, can we? No, we really can’t, we can convince ourselves but the reality is terrifying to imagine, so we choose to avoid it. To continue being delusional and idiotic is our only choice, well, the only choice we put out there for ourselves.

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