Pitter-patter.
Pitter, pitter, pitter.
Patter, patter, patter.
Rain drops drip, drip, drip down my windowpane, bonding with its own kind.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
Rain comes.
Rain falls.
Rain sinks.
Rain goes.
It's a cold, rainy day.
Sometimes I wonder, in a dark room, no lights, no furniture, no hope. Just me, in a corner, curled in a ball, breathing.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inha—
Pitter-patter.
Thoughts come.
Thoughts thought.
Thoughts process.
Thoughts go—
Thoughts stay.
I often think about the darkest of the most dark, the sinister of the most sinister, the traumatizing of the most traumatizing situations I can ever think to imagine my self in. It frightens me, yes, just as it frightens any other person in this planet—in this dying planet—but yet, I abuse myself by succumbing to such thoughts.
Yet again, by imagining the worst of the worst, when the worst of the worst times come, you'll be prepared to act and behave—prepared to escape and survive.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
The cold envelops me like the clouds in the sky do to Earth. It chills every single bone I know I still have. It chills that last paper-thin, sorry excuse for an epidermis left on my flesh. It chills the last handful of body parts that are still left on me to call it my own.
It chills me like the thoughts chill my brain.
I am a strong person.
I believe me to be.
I think and think and think and think about all these dark thoughts happening to me to deceive me into thinking I will be strong when the darkest of times come and haunt me—knock on wood.
But deep down... I'm not strong.
I'm not brave.
I'm not a fighter.
I'm a fake.
A hypocrite.
A deluded, mentally insa—I'm not insane!
Person.
I'm a person.
I often think about the darkest of the most dark, the sinister of the most sinister, the traumatizing of the most traumatizing situations I can ever think to imagine my self in.
I can escape.
Liar.
I can fight back.
Liar.
I can speak out.
Liar.
I am a survivor.
Hypocrite.
I often think about the darkest of the most dark, the sinister of the most sinister, the traumatizing of the most traumatizing situations I can ever think to imagine my self in.
They imprison me.
No, you do.
They abuse me.
No, you do.
They silence me.
No, you do.
They made me a survivor.
No, you made yourself a victim.
.
.
.
.
.
The definition of a masochist is this: a person who enjoys an activity that appears to be painful or tedious.
By succumbing to such thoughts, I am, by definition, a masochist.
I like pain.
Finally, you are telling the truth.
YOU ARE READING
A Prose With No Direction
SpiritualA prose with no direction. A mind with no guidance. A human without a purpose. That is the kind of story I hate to be. That is the kind of story I, unfortunately, am.
