If she thought more, she would begin thinking about things, and these things
Pushed into her empty hole.
Void of reason.
Mass insanity.
Learning to breath from the miniscule crevices that surround the soul.
Not the shell of reality but true essence, existence in fantasy.
Orwell’s world of miscalculated arithmetic proves correct.
Controlled by a force greater than ourselves.
Mystery pits us against metamorphosis.
I will myself to cut open my flesh, the incision thin and deep.
The knife sharpened by expectation and desperation.
I bit my lip as blood slowly begins to drip from my chest.
The inner workings of my heart are unveiled.
Truth without misconception.