I so often find myself in a labyrinth of clearly constructed lies. With white noise taking up my surroundings, it hurts to breath, more so to speak. The inevitability of the pain burning at the strands of knowledge in my brain. As my palms press against the walls of green and white, my toes drown deep in the sand beneath my feet.
I ask myself if I’m even alive, or have I mistaken the beating of my heart to the pounding of drums down the streets as they make me cover my ears. Still it doesn’t stop, as I walk on, feeble steps, bare feet. Skin brushing against the tar on the streets. The sky turns pale holding streams of resemblance to my very own skin. Pale.
And I can now start to feel my chest burn, the fire inside my stomach starting to spread, as my legs finally give away. And the ground splits in half, I brace myself for the fall but it never comes. That thump and the cracking of bones against concrete, the glistening of blood under the summer sun, it never comes.-H