Days starts to fade into the color gray, numbing out any vibrant colors and plaguing it like a pandemic. Or was I the one that was plaguing it? That night, melancholy tugged on my shirt as i dwell upon the torment of my past. Atleast those didn't release me from their grasp; even if it was hindering me, atleast it clung onto me. Disconsolation had a firm grip on me, digging it's claws into my skin as blood gushed out from the wound. Disregarding the agony it drowned me in, i felt deserving. In this society, i was oil while they were water. If i ever collided with them, they would immediately distance themselves as if it was instinct. I'm a disease to this thing called humanity, lurking in the abyss because of isolation and embarrassment. No one bothered to acknowledge who I was beyond flesh and bones; ignorance taunting them. It would've been pointless anyway, I deserved to be neglected. Whatever humanity left within me had fleeted, i was nothing but a puppet controlled by my own head. I didn't feel human, and I didn't look human. My whole existence was a crisis of acrimony, brushing it's very skin against my nape vehemently.
