the dire hunger that pushes around me. silent kitchen and flickering lights. my vision is ensnared by the pain that pulls my mind off its senses. my footsteps are undecisive yet with direction. weak and fumbling, i am slowly pacing towards salvation. the only solvent, antidote that cures the violence from within is milk...
milk that heals the broken nerves and restores the brain to its rightful state. milk added with a flavour that seems out of place. words that lost track and fell from the stairs. written by another hand and in another language. the lights flicker with such indecisiveness and restarin, as if calling out in pain, to release it from its hurt. its life ending yet having to go through the last breathes that stabs its existance...yet salvation is nearing...
i took down the cup, i konw its not mine, i know its not a cup...but heck it...
the milk dont seem right as well, but can i reject my only hope? to feed my dried and crisped lips?
i gulp down, ignoring the taste and awfulness that bit my tongue, maybe it is numb and lost its sense anyway...then a sudden surge broke in my middle. it tore my torso. and my thoughts are seized and i can do nothing to reduce that surge. revolt, rebuke, reject, revulsion that intends to place its crushing claws on my throat...throw it all out. no its my only hope. my ignorance had deceited me, and now its hecking my system.
i saw the date labelled there, strangely though i was losing my senses. maybe they wanted to let me know why i am going to die in just a moment. the very same way like how the ligh flickers. the language and words have somehow morphed back into its orignal form and brought understanding to my feeble mind.
the milk was not white, it was moss green.
the light stop flickering and darkness was my companion.