30 day writing challenge
Topic: Addiction (day 17)
When you're not thinking, your subconscious takes over and makes you feel. When you feel and do not understand, you are hollow. Some want to do nothing but as the pressure inside becomes too much, they explode. Some will try to fill it with other thoughts and acts, but it is almost akin to throwing balls into hoops at the wrong side of the court. When you don't find a proper way to face your skeletons, you start becoming undead. When that happens too often, you become addicted to being half-alive. Fulfill yourself by staring your emptiness in the face and ask the right questions. The answers will then come much easier than you think.
Inspired by the book, Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury.
Topic: Addiction (day 17)
When you're not thinking, your subconscious takes over and makes you feel. When you feel and do not understand, you are hollow. Some want to do nothing but as the pressure inside becomes too much, they explode. Some will try to fill it with other thoughts and acts, but it is almost akin to throwing balls into hoops at the wrong side of the court. When you don't find a proper way to face your skeletons, you start becoming undead. When that happens too often, you become addicted to being half-alive. Fulfill yourself by staring your emptiness in the face and ask the right questions. The answers will then come much easier than you think.
Inspired by the book, Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury.
Mrs. Montag
I got my stomach pumped tonight.
I got my stomach pumped tonight.
That’s no big deal. Everyone has
done it.
It is almost a weekly routine for
me.
In fact, I crave it.
They inject you with this amazing
concoction
of dancing colors after you get pumped.
It helps
you forget your pain.
They call it Euphoria.
I have tasted it so many times, the body has become
more resilient than the burning
flames on the next
government street.
Protocol is to up the dose.
I crave protocol,
so I make sure I’ll always take one pill
more than the last.
My insane husband has fled to join
the hippies
on the tracks. Something about
giving
happiness a try. I call it naivety.
Do I miss him? Well, I get the parlor
walls
all to myself and the seashells are
never offed
these days. I listen to them as I count
the capsules.
The bombings in the adjacent city
make the best songs
for each session. Upbeat and
dynamite.
The poison coursing through my empty
veins,
slowly seeping into my hollowed mind.
Hear
the low hum of the machine, sucking
the sleep
out, next to me. It sounds like his
voice.
Euphoria. It brings me to the
perfect world,
their perfect world, my perfect world.