The corporation of cogs and gears inside my head were rusted and threatening to shatter. A heat so vicious it peeled the skin from my legs like stockings, the persistent snap and crunch as my vertabrae gave wy and threw broken shards of bone into my organs, splattering them like scrap meat along the inside of my ribcage.
Seemingly, it was just me who was disgusted at the morality of humans. Life would be so much simpler without having to feign concern for other's emotions and decisions. A dreamless world, drowing in reality as we struggled to keep our heads afloat.
I was trapped, in a paracosm of my own. Reality was sealed away from me through walls and walls of imagination and foolish childhood dreams, and I waited patiently for the day when the balance would counter and I'd be thrown headfirst into the real world, hitting the pavement like an egg on stone.
YOU ARE READING
The Contents Of My Head
General FictionA series of drabbles. I apologise for general angsty, depressing topics, but you can't deny they're fun to write.
