November 29, 2014

“You look around your room, your empty and silent room, and you think it might be nice to fill it with screaming. It doesn’t matter what kind of screaming; any kind will do. A scream from the shredded depths of your throat. A scream from your digesting innards. A scream from the reciprocating pipes hidden inside the walls. A scream from nails across glass. A scream from within the mattress. A scream from the center of your endlessly pulsing brain. Your poor brain. Your tired-of-thinking brain. Is it so much to ask for a reprieve from all the thinking? You roll out of bed landing on your feet. You walk through the apartment. You look at the couch. You look at the window. You stare at the door. You want to slam something, break anything. You want to run into the hallway and knock on the neighbors’ doors, knocking until your knuckles are raw and the neighbors are frothing with aggravation inside.”

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