of a bear who’s lost his shadow and wanders the woods into the forest of elves to search for it back.
of the cowboy who got so soulsick that he decided to leave it all behind, to ride westward so hard and so fast that no sun would ever set for him.
of medieval fighters, another day nearer to the battle, drinking up and looking brave, because every day nearer to battle, is a day closer to the grave.
of ideas only coming at night to be scrawled all over mirrors in lipstick.
of stealing a minute from every single person who never realizes it, so that he can live forever, longing for her.
gape then, you curiousity-seekers who somehow always materialise to gape open-mouthed at the misery of others. crucify him because he’s different, lynch him because he’s different, ostracise him because he is different.
a little change, a little shift in paradigm, and you’d be using the very words you now so vociferously condemn.
Harden it. Let the whir and rattle be a rhythmic percussion syncopating the anger in my heart into a steady, throbbing hate. And I will, get you, one day. All of you.
Its sound cuts through the air like a hot knife through butter.
With shaky hands, I reach out for the phone…
… Only to see stumps where my hands should have been.
Delirious now. That, though, is the best time of these nights. Where the entire insides of my skull is exploding and bouncing about with bright psychadelic flashes and god knows what. They often say people see things in times of delirium, well, I think it up. Memories, ideas, visions, all amalgating into a single driving force, rattling within a human skull that chatters my teeth and feel like my eyeballs are about to go on supernova. Away from the drab, grey concrete.
I must escape.