Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Eighteen

my heart is out of tune - my humour is evil - my evil nature is laughing and the desk stands still - it's solid and it's old - there are some papers and some pencils, and concrete walls - the nights are driving my madness - i hear the footsteps and the whispers - my daily meal consists of carrots and water and a mug of warm milk before sleep-time - i assume they are drugging my milk - it would explain this act of kindness - my dreams are terrible and i wake up in a sweat with the breathless feeling one gets once discovered that they're not alone, when they should be alone - i opened my bedroom window one night and saw an ugly young boy pouring cold water onto a man - he looked at me with his distorted face and it's unnatural expressions and yelled something in words only known within his inbred state of being - yellow
foam spewed violently from his hank-words - he soon lumbered away with his hump and limp - i closed my curtains to the sound of the poor old man howling in fear, covered in water

that's how i feel every time i wake up from my evil dreams - i feel like that foaming young boy is walking away from me, leaving me with my fears and vivid-nightmares, wet and cold in the middle of the dark night - i see his beast-feet limping

and now here, at my desk - the walls are silently moving in on me and warping in shape - my milk, now cold, sits invisible on the floor - i toy nervously with my pencil, damp with my palms - as i fumble and drop it to the floor i hear it snap in two and i shudder at the sound of it - bending down to pick up the snapped pencil i catch a glimpse of the grey concrete wall behind me - fearing not to look directly, my terror and mad mind confirm what my peripheral vision thinks it sees

the yellow foam seeping from the walls is beginning to smell