the yarn tightly wounds around all the mundane thoughts, accumulated, hoping for the only outlet which was under my control. Bound so tight that eventually all the grey matter starts to ooze out and finally it explodes on itself, with nowhere to go but back to its origins.
I try to pull on my hair, but all that my hands grasp is the mud of time, not the sands of time. With the bits clinging on to my face i try to regain my composure but only to know the futility of my wasted attempts.
The fate's empty warnings echoes through the battlefield, just as an empty vessel makes noise-thats all there is, noise. There is no voice of submission, only battle-cries from within the helmets bouncing off the shields and bones, resonating within the hollow skull. Oh how i wish it were hollow, only if, only if....
The dull orange stares at me, constantly laughing at me for using it for so mundane a purpose, I'm tired of your euphemisms, but that makes a whole different story all together.
Thats all he ever says- strum away, strum away, strum away, strum away, but why do i like it so much, i fail to see the attachment, if only everything was as clear as i wish it to be and yet again the dull orange light brings me back to the reality.
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