The Mental Jungle

Post #25

Earth smell.

Acid rain taps with venom against my window. It eats away glass and glides into the vacant space named home. A house or a place to hide all sins is the way in which to handle all issues concerning the outside world.
Locked away from view in cupboards, cabinets, and buried deep within sweet-scented cushions spattered about as if in an attempted statement, the dust settles with trepidation upon objects bearing the scars of what they have witnessed.
Drums thunder a persistent tune in my head, and along with the chimes hanging from the ceiling that sing out of step to the creeping presence outside, an overwhelming urge to smack the source of one’s chaos begs to be set free.

Hear the voices coming, they taunt the light and feed the darkness; causing the rain to once more swell from the inside outwards and into the void beyond this shell of a man-made prison. So shall I rip open skin to reveal all, or should what must be unseen remain so? To go back and watch how the people walk round as if nothing matters is a torturous endeavour to undertake and even contemplate.
For that is the effect of acid rain, as when it finds its way between the safety net of home or house, the lies upon oneself placed shall come crawling out and revealed for the naked eye to witness in horror. 


“Arigatō gozaimasu”

. . .Thank you. . .

Cover photo from: CHEKii (2016)


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