Boredom is like morphine, it numbs away your very sensibility and leaves you heaving and writhing in dizzy fits of ecstasy and agony- like a scratchy old blanket it smothers you irritating even deepest fiber of your being; like some creature or organism that is crawling beneath your epidermis- writhing and clawing to get out, until the point when you feel like you're going to explode- but then you don't.
Sleep- that bitch of a lover who never comes when you call and is nowhere to be found when you most need her, yes these are the things that make us human, these are the truest pangs of our existence- not love or suffering, not anything so grandiose as all of that- something much simpler, so much so that it might escape us by slipping from the shadow of one white blood cell to the next until our curiosity becomes exhausted in our great search- no, quest for reason in this blinding insanity we refer to as life. Yet how does she do it? How does she lure us in with her comforting abyss after depraving us of our vitality even our sanity is not sacrosanct to her wiles while at play preying upon our feeble little minds- too timid yet to solve even our basest of problems combating our most basic instinct when called into play by our natural desires- Yes, these are the things we have little control over except for those who are strong or smart enough to fight it with every breath, and with every breath distort the lies until they have yet again become some sort of truth in someone's bleary eyes- yet are we all so blinded and impaired bound and gagged by our own sick minds and dark perversions? Where does it all stop?
When will it again become prevalent that our children be like-minded of each-other and our homes all freshly painted with a well maintained auto in the driveway and a kitchen amply ready to satisfy even the most challenging of appetites? These are the things I wander over in my mind over and over again while I lounge here listlessly just trying to think straight but without thinking, to-
She started from her self absorbed reverie as one of her grandmothers' tacky ceramic vases collided with the ground propelling a smattering of water droplets up the front of her frock and dousing her worn boots to a quite calamitous end. It did her mind good to watch the depictions of smirking cherubs shatter, never again could they scorn her for her shortcomings.
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