Ticking.
Clicking.
Tapping.
The world is filled with noises made simply to distract me.
Yes, it seems God has provoked my poor soul with the mutinous sound of existing. No one else seems as terribly troubled by it, when I mention it I receive strange cold stares. They're more troubled by me being troubled than by the trouble itself! Terrible people. Awful, terrible musicians of death. Perilously ruining my day with their pitiful screeching, sobbing and panting. The wails and foreign words spilling from their throats. While the click and tap everything with their fingertips, listening to the tick of their impending doom.
The end of the day.
The bell rings.
The children eat supper,
the men shall bring.
The woman is tidy.
The dog is fed.
Now it's time to sleep,
then work again.
We are tucked away gems of our society. Dolls, kept polished, kind faces on a shelf. That is what we are fed as infant minds. As if solitary confinement wouldn't be enough to start some movement in a comatose thought process, let alone be enough time to think without being trifled with lies. Even the man I share a bed with is fed it. The mush, slanderous pig slop keeping us all in check. They crush mind control agents in the food I have to buy at the markets they provide. I know it. My children get sleepy after every meal. My husband does not kiss me goodnight anymore. It is settling, the dust of a new life. It has become old and ambiguous. We are just another family in this city of families being the perfect image of what a family should be. That is all. That is it.
Stop.
The lights must be dimmed.
Before those who can see,
are at it again.
