Relent<
1st Level Yellow Feather
- Joined
- Sep 8, 2005
- Messages
- 3,233
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This is my first time doing a "rant" so, well...here you go.
You live in a place, any place, and attend a school or a job and occupy a space for hours upon hours, and in your work you feel accomplished and purposeful, but when the work is done, you look into a sea of familiar faces--faces you've seen everyday--and feel completely alone.
Vermin. They scurry about without accomplishing anything, peeking onto your paper to get by, using whatever they can borrow from you without ever even asking what they might do in return, and then they vanish without moving. They stand before you, eyes a-twinkle, smiling, laughing with one another while you sit at your desk quietly and hate them.
But you can't let them know you hate them; so you smile, and joke, and continue to be used like a disposable diaper until you're so full that you have to empty their soiling contents somewhere, anywhere, to alleviate the pressure it has begun to build in your skull. Anywhere but where it is, and then you find a hole. A deep, bottomless pit somewhere in the middle of your chest, and you empty it there. You don't care where it goes anymore, you don't think about it, and then one day you realize it never went anywhere. The hole was a myth; an illusion you made for yourself and that you've been wearing the contents of every person who's ever used you like a mask; like a costume; and suddenly you can't see yourself. You don't know who you are; all you see is a thing; a monster; an insect.
And then you sleep. In sleep you forget. And then you rise anew.
You live in a place, any place, and attend a school or a job and occupy a space for hours upon hours, and in your work you feel accomplished and purposeful, but when the work is done, you look into a sea of familiar faces--faces you've seen everyday--and feel completely alone.
Vermin. They scurry about without accomplishing anything, peeking onto your paper to get by, using whatever they can borrow from you without ever even asking what they might do in return, and then they vanish without moving. They stand before you, eyes a-twinkle, smiling, laughing with one another while you sit at your desk quietly and hate them.
But you can't let them know you hate them; so you smile, and joke, and continue to be used like a disposable diaper until you're so full that you have to empty their soiling contents somewhere, anywhere, to alleviate the pressure it has begun to build in your skull. Anywhere but where it is, and then you find a hole. A deep, bottomless pit somewhere in the middle of your chest, and you empty it there. You don't care where it goes anymore, you don't think about it, and then one day you realize it never went anywhere. The hole was a myth; an illusion you made for yourself and that you've been wearing the contents of every person who's ever used you like a mask; like a costume; and suddenly you can't see yourself. You don't know who you are; all you see is a thing; a monster; an insect.
And then you sleep. In sleep you forget. And then you rise anew.
