Shut Up
I get all...numb
Didehydroepoxy...methylmorphinandiol...
Morphine...
Soothing...
I've had it in my drawer for three weeks, taken from a prostitute that smelled cheap; it was the cheapest thing I ever did...
My eyelids flutter over dead tired orbs, the curtains over a play in which death was not hypothetical.
I get all...numb.
I get all...dead.
Three pills are..too much for a nonexitent pain. The throbbing limb was severed, but the air where it used to rest still throbs.
And what if death will end my pain?
I read that dead dude's diary before Denv forgot enough to want to remember.
He said, just at the beginning:'Would the world benefit from the embrace of a dead soul?'
And he embraced the air that rejected him, alive and not dead, without receiving an answer.
I have an answer.
The world will benefit from my death.
Just like a tree would from the resection of a dead branch it struggled to feed and revive.
They wouldn't be able to revive me even if they were God and I Jesus...
My door slams somewhere in the numb universe, vast possibilities of constellations to rent as a permanent home, and the tube of pills rolls from between my unresponsive digits.
They twitch unprovoked.
"Boston?", a tiny bark from a star nearby, trying to form a bridge between our stars using language.
But on my star, even the ones next me can't manage such exceptional performance.We're all so numb we can barely feel ourselves.
"Boston!", the call is repeated agressively, making the curtains over tired and confused orbs rise with reluctance to answer.
Denver's digits lift the tube of pills and horror or something horrible strikes her features, growing with each word, with each letter, with each particle of ink that follows.
And then those same digits dig in my cheeks, lifting my head just barely.
They feel like the base of a poorly constructed house. If they let go, the house would fall on the soft world it came from, the one made of chikens and fabric.
I'm so numb I can't even...feel them.
"Boston, can you hear me?"
Dumbass, of course I can; it's just that I can't respond because I'm so...numb all over...
"M'yea"
Her black eyes shine like constellations and I can see now just why that dead dude loved you so much.
Your eyes are so alive and ours are...so not.
"How many of these did you take?"
Her fingers leave my cheeks for just a moment and my head rolls like an unsustained ball to the side of the court.
And she presses her palms against the sides of my head, worried that some vertebrae will revolt against such poor treatment.
"You idiot", she mutters softly, striking my temples gently."You can die from these"
Die...
You think I didn't know that when I took them?
"Mn...my death", and the tongue stops to fix its coherency.", the world would live even-if I die"
And her palms feel so hot against numb skin...
"911?Yeah, my brother took a lot of morphine pills"
She's called for reinforcements...
Silly sister of mine, you really think you can do anything to help me?
I've been dead for ten years. Just waiting to grow worms...
And why wouldn't I want to feel numb when the world did it ages ago to survive man?
I'm just doing the same thing...
...only, to survive myself...
Morphine...
Soothing...
I've had it in my drawer for three weeks, taken from a prostitute that smelled cheap; it was the cheapest thing I ever did...
My eyelids flutter over dead tired orbs, the curtains over a play in which death was not hypothetical.
I get all...numb.
I get all...dead.
Three pills are..too much for a nonexitent pain. The throbbing limb was severed, but the air where it used to rest still throbs.
And what if death will end my pain?
I read that dead dude's diary before Denv forgot enough to want to remember.
He said, just at the beginning:'Would the world benefit from the embrace of a dead soul?'
And he embraced the air that rejected him, alive and not dead, without receiving an answer.
I have an answer.
The world will benefit from my death.
Just like a tree would from the resection of a dead branch it struggled to feed and revive.
They wouldn't be able to revive me even if they were God and I Jesus...
My door slams somewhere in the numb universe, vast possibilities of constellations to rent as a permanent home, and the tube of pills rolls from between my unresponsive digits.
They twitch unprovoked.
"Boston?", a tiny bark from a star nearby, trying to form a bridge between our stars using language.
But on my star, even the ones next me can't manage such exceptional performance.We're all so numb we can barely feel ourselves.
"Boston!", the call is repeated agressively, making the curtains over tired and confused orbs rise with reluctance to answer.
Denver's digits lift the tube of pills and horror or something horrible strikes her features, growing with each word, with each letter, with each particle of ink that follows.
And then those same digits dig in my cheeks, lifting my head just barely.
They feel like the base of a poorly constructed house. If they let go, the house would fall on the soft world it came from, the one made of chikens and fabric.
I'm so numb I can't even...feel them.
"Boston, can you hear me?"
Dumbass, of course I can; it's just that I can't respond because I'm so...numb all over...
"M'yea"
Her black eyes shine like constellations and I can see now just why that dead dude loved you so much.
Your eyes are so alive and ours are...so not.
"How many of these did you take?"
Her fingers leave my cheeks for just a moment and my head rolls like an unsustained ball to the side of the court.
And she presses her palms against the sides of my head, worried that some vertebrae will revolt against such poor treatment.
"You idiot", she mutters softly, striking my temples gently."You can die from these"
Die...
You think I didn't know that when I took them?
"Mn...my death", and the tongue stops to fix its coherency.", the world would live even-if I die"
And her palms feel so hot against numb skin...
"911?Yeah, my brother took a lot of morphine pills"
She's called for reinforcements...
Silly sister of mine, you really think you can do anything to help me?
I've been dead for ten years. Just waiting to grow worms...
And why wouldn't I want to feel numb when the world did it ages ago to survive man?
I'm just doing the same thing...
...only, to survive myself...