her patience and understanding. her virtue of love that fuses and discombobulates the togetherness of a forbidden force of nature and reality she yearns. two bodies, one soul ridden with dire consequences of togetherness; but still they seek to make...
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It's so quiet. Manny's going to be here soon. Love? It's too quiet. Love! Why is it so quiet? Where's Love?
Lugubrious were the echoes of the audience, non-entities yet they seemed to nurture enough skill and creativity to mock the taunting sounds of English speaking organisms like human disguised aliens living in a universe foreign to that of the human inhabited world their vessel resided. Entities foreign to that of earth and its similar inhabitants, its creatures inner and ambience external, urging a sense of interaction that answered to no one authentic, native to the land of the eternal spirit of mankind and its natural occurrences, yet responded to the sounds of so many and its majestic capacity to clone the means of a universe its existential host knew and understood beyond its surface blemishes. The spiritual inhabitants of the world were ruthless, for they'd developed from echoes and utterances whispering from deep within like monsters beneath the bed, but were more like the thalamus misleading the ear of earth's most attentive population, creating symphonies of cheap liars, hatred ridden multitudes, and emotional thieves convinced the ruler of their world they'd loved nothing more than a life ruled by phoniness and pity, and contorted them into a box that had essentially crashed beneath the horror and disbelief of external forces convincing them of otherwise. The forces of reality.
It were sacred moments like these during detrimental episodes such as this that her mind had convinced and sold a fantasy of a life so much more complex and giving than this, persuading, convincing, and luring her into a conniving belief that only seemed to externally emphasize the life of being a diagnosed psychopath to the minds of society beyond her. Or what the world had been convinced into believing in as it pertained to her and the differences she nurtured when it came to the way she saw and viewed the world around her. Florence was different, saw and heard things no one else did or could, responded and spoke to things no one else could or would, felt presences, saw them, and feared them as though they were the people of the world, the humans of the planet she give, the only humane organization that engendered fear deep into the hearth of her being and taunted her attempts to scavenge the world as there would always be an external audience that battled against the evil of her inner forsaking her in the middle of a bloody massacre she hadn't the capacity to even begin to bring a mending of. Both sides had convinced her into a belief if something real, something worth fighting for, yet doubted the realism and truth of the other though they hadn't the slighted sense of care to consider the fact that both had identical ideas that sold the need of a woman who wanted nothing more than to be accepted for who she truly was rather than the illness that taunted and stereotyped her.
The ambience succumbed to the tears that flooded the walls that absorbed its desperation like a sun dried sponge, its edges and eternal will to soak up the rivers of mess and ruin that were the unresolved trauma of a neglected life having grown so full and stretched to the widths of its capacity with oceans and its crashing turmoil it seeped into the depths of the sink that homed its existence. Her emotional fight exuding through the nooks and crannies, cracks and crevices of the room that overflowed with the overstimulation of a true embodiment of pain and suffering, despair wrapped up in the gauze of desperation and sadness and telling a story of their lost touch with the means of their reality with inconsistency and avoidance with the forces of medication and the state of merely being once with the creatures of the apocalypse, there was only a select few seconds that her washed state had allowed it true self return to its body, before it removed it once more and overtook it with something greater, something more frightening and dangerous than the power she possessed as a woman entrapped within the walls of false happiness and fake haste to health. Her stare was cold and distant, lacking of any life and any ability to recollection as time collapsed beneath the laid position she resumed amidst the full size mattress she'd become one with. Body absent of any warmth that would signify any further life beyond the heart that pumped ever so measly within the alternating ribcage of the vegetative state of the body she lived. Her physical presence lacked, having nurtured no capacity to recollect any part of the past seven days that lapsed into a sickening month of being shackled to the dry, crumbly souls of her hyperactivity of the amygdala, visual cortex, and the thalamus racing into a deep hazy thick of overdrive and stimulation that tackled her sanity from all angles and at any time that she'd thought she was freed from the shackles of an audience that never seemed to disperse no matter how direful and desperate the yearn for it had been.
