the tinkling of soft music from a distance, this chapter didn't hurt as much in our chest cavities, and maybe that's some sort of blessing, but the taste of formaldehyde still lingers as do those corpses of dissected things and it really can't be helped. we scream as loud as we must and still no one believes we're in pain. it's a shame, we are so starved of attention that we believe this is the way, this is how you live and breathe and every breath is some sort of ridiculous herculean task that takes actual mental effort to complete, because we all want to die because all this pain is too much to bear alone but it's all we've ever know, all we are allowed to know because there is something out there better than this but we just haven't found it yet and maybe we never will and they don't teach this stuff in school, no, they sweep it under the rug and hope that there will only be few suicides because the rest of us are too scared to actually do anything, to bleed or jump or shoot for something we don't believe in and where's the faith in that? it's the changing of a season, a chapter, but it isn't changing much.
