inevitable, unstoppable transformation.

can you visualize it and laugh?

the words of a madman, floating through the cracks on the walls, and slithering its way into your flaring nostrils.
never, you say, will you be such a nutcase. and you lift your chin and your chest swells with pride as you take a deep breath and inhale the insanity.

strangeness. the comforting name. strangeness. the circulating game.
when will the obvious hit you like a hollow brick made of stained glass?
when will you finally get to laugh your last breath away at the realization that you could've realized it sooner had it not been for your thick skull which is now somehow ironically cracked in half by that delicate stained glass?
when will the word be but a sigh?

as your shaking fingers reach up to feel that gaping, jagged opening in your head, the fingers of another reach out and desperately grasp yours. and the grip of the being who is attatched to those clammy fingers turn cold and sinister. a baleful grin replaces your twitching mouth and your eyes widen comically until your sockets become caves holding your rattling eyes until they eventually rattle off of your face, hanging down on your neck like an ugly halloween necklace, leaving you with the feeling of fresh nothingness blowing into your raw, hollow sockets.

standing there with your fingers in your skull, your eyes dangling wildly, and that toothy, cheshire cat grin slapped on your face, you turn and face the sliver of reflective glass that is left of your shattered bedroom window.

looking back at you, the well-mannered girl gives you a polite smile, slightly bows, turns away, and bids you farewell, walking off of the windowsill.
the suave, well-dressed gent tips his hat, grins, and steps off of the reflection.

you yank your fingers out of your skull, walk closer to the little sliver of blue glass, and wonderingly run the tips of your shriveled fingers on the edges. it cuts through your tough skin like butter, and the last drop of sanity seeps out of the cut and splatters onto the windowsill and drips off onto a long blade of grass outside your window.

leaning outside to watch it slide down the blade, you forget about the long sliver of glass as it stabs through you.

the fingers in your skull, reach out and down, stretching, and rips off your dangling eyes. as your eyes fall onto the grass, you catch a glimpse of your body, bent over the sill. and then, a droplet of sanity trickles off of the blade of grass above your eyes, lands on your pupil, then slides off.

the last sensible tear you will unwillingly cry.

pandora the box will always fall a few beats behind. erasing every few seconds.

bs served on a platter made out of dried animal droppings. seems to be the popular appetizer these days. slapping on an extra serving of bs with a stiff smile plastered on your face doesn't seem to make a difference.
silly how it can take so many years until you see the real monster ripping out of the seemingly innocent flesh. lucky i found out in only a year although it should have been more since the skin was so thick. so thick that the monster would not have even been able to claw its precious way out.
thank goodness for piercing eyes. industrial eyes. cold metal through your pupils, sir.

answer the stupid phone already. snap out of that paralyzed state of fear. sitting stiffly upright with the shrilling phone in your lap.
go on. click. redial.