This is just a storage of the raw

The mind is constantly changing.

Sunday, 18 September 2016

Ingrata

Today I felt the effects of poverty.

When I was murdering the malnourished poultry, the only ones left for produce, the source of financial capacity, when I thought I had to prevent the little ones from leaving the inside, cracking their skulls with the door as I try to open and close the same with absolute intensity because they could go outside with simple negligence from me, as if I took the responsibility of looking over them when I, myself, was in varying degrees of self-doubt. I had no intentions to respect the dead as I maintain the posture of what redundantly may or may not be what I want or do not want to be. My father's face was all it took to realize that what I did was a mistake because we have nothing, nothing else.

When I was avoiding an enormous beast with two of its almost normal siblings outside, where the beautiful lime berries grow and where I burn all the things that no longer deserve the merit of existence, as it was common sense to avoid the same as someone who was not an adult, an immature feral object, locking myself inside along with other little ones whom I treat as deserving and not deserving of what may be called protection, letting the adults go to work at the limited outside just as how it was signified to be by custom. I was forlorn and apprehensive that I always open the door that I kill the weaker ones, as if unaware of what I call danger to the blameless and those who do or do not do without discernment. I was so afraid to do the simple task of feeding the biggest threat as I was in between being the weak and the worker, unable to contribute or aid albeit slightly, assuming it was right, that it might wake up, even without signs of animosity, and swallow my surprisingly undeniably protected becoming of nothing, nothing else.

When I was struggling to go back, streets were polluted with shit and the rotten and, as if alive, always wary of impending accident and accepted carelessness, but the buses were so reckless when driven, full and ready to hit and run as I crossed the streets, but I had no money that I had to walk in quite an unreasonable distance to what I unfortunately call home that I dismissed the ordeal as ergonomics and forget that I was doing it as a chore to move without a place to go to and from the beginning. I walked through the fucking dirt and mud of cultured nature while taking the road farther away from everything with my knees and palms just to let it cross my mind that I have nothing, nothing else.

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