i'm panicking.
my eyes are in constant motion, and my joints are blizzard-white. i wonder if i will run out of air soon, with the way i'm gulping it, more like shoving it down my throat. straight to my stomach, clenched and waiting, skip past the lungs entirely.
i'm panicking.
what's that? what's happened? my lips are sandpaper slabs, and my tongue is a battle axe to cut. cut all the dead skin, dead from all the air i gulp. wide open, waiting. answer, please.
how would you like your list prepared?
i was never very good at sunny-side up. i've always been more of a scrambled kind of guy.
count the theories. the speculation.
i am panicking.
you're certainly getting your revenge right now,
you threw me in the dark, slammed the door, turned the lock - that wasn't the key breaking, was it?
can i leave now?
at least turn a fucking light on.
please, don't make me say please. just turn a light on.
this manic panic, it attacks with strength.
this attack, this battle axe to cut.
how would you like your list prepared?
I really like the mood and tone in this one! I feel like there's some ironic humor going on in it, and it's very elegant!
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