⸸|ＨＵＭＡＮ ＭＡＳＫ |BSD [Rewriting]

0¿7

____________________________

Act
____________________________

The world is like an amateur theater; it is more indecent to push oneself towards primary roles and reject secondary ones. Finally, any role is good as long as you play it with skill and don't take it too seriously

Bolesław Prus, The Doll

________________________

♥︎I Bet on Losing Dogs- Mitski

Eyes stared at the floor, empty and distant like a doll's. Numb body, unable to squeeze out more than quiet grunts, moans and knots—voice screeched somewhere on the tongue, rubbing bitter aftertaste against the palate. Lips chapped, pale, dry, parted a bit... the saliva only flowed at the ends, already dried.

Hair covering the blank face, falling lower and lower, shielding it from the cold light of the cloudy sun. The world seemed to stop. She could no longer hear anything except her labored breathing. The heart only somewhere in the head, knocking harder and slower. The pain is familiar, the state is familiar. Everything is numb, paralyzed by the chains of its own possibilities—tied to the bottom of hell—holding in check, pulling harder and harder, squeezing so that the blood does not flow like a river between tears and veins under the skin.

The feeling is familiar to her. Decoration feeling. Nothing that could last long. Not until death.

Where she was and who she was; hidden in broke mind, because of her. By her own desire. By her own thoughts.  Blurred images flashed before eyes, irritating with a quiet whisper of death.  Death so beautiful, painful. Blood flowing down, filling the skin, full of lights.

This was how it was supposed to be, this was how she was supposed to die. Agony. True feeling is unceasing pain.

Beyond pain there was nothing

Isn't that the price of freedom?
Pain?

Deaf, deep, envious.
Fingers, ice like, scratching each other.

Sweat falling down temple. The skin sweats sliver as it tries to fight the pain, involuntarily drill every now and then as another wave flows through, like a current of heat like water. The water surrounding her body, the steam in the form of her breath, leaving her lips every now and then, just wanting to ease the pain. Nothing but pain. Focus on the pain. Feel it. Feel it in every cell of your body until you can't think about the past—your future, is unknown.

She let out another hollow groan, hoarse voice - torn from somewhere deep consciousness. Sleep. A twitch of the fingers, like a leper. Consciousness hitting harder and harder until it opens another channel, releasing tears. From the corner of the eye, through the nose to the other dried swollen cheek.

This feeling.

Headache, pressure, stuffiness, dead soul, another attempt.

Test yourself.

Test your mind, soul...

Another tear rolled down. How she hated crying. However, the pain became almost numb, just like she did—had no strength not to cry, no strength to cry.

It was a cloudy day.

Gray, delicate light... a broken mirror on the floor...reflection of a corpse.

Oh god, this is just a child.

Do you hear, God? She's still a child. Never mind pitying her. Didn't you once have a son? tortured? sentenced? to the cross? to crucifixion? to the crusades? That was your plan, so this time I won't blame you, but shorten her suffering. Oh God. Look at those eyes, that body. What did it do? Its own stupidity, oh God?