Lee was suffocating; lying there upon her bed, stomach down, appendages spread, hair aloof, her nose caught the loose sheets as beads of sweat dripped out of her large, summer browned, 80 or so degree pores; and there she lay, suffocating. The chemically sickened air sprang under her door as if her door did not exist; her father's tobacco burned slower or faster that night, but ultimately it killed him; seconds ticked off, dropped slimy, oil drenched -the black of nothingness- to the floor accompanying the ash[the great burning, the great death, the great waste of a human].
And lying, dying, choking, mentally vomiting on every one she despised, Lee shook with fatigue. Her brain ran off into the deep trenches of the dark gray, -between wall and mattress- then the nothing-ness that owned her was beat down by fear, awkwardness, confusion, hate, and among the other feelings there was the overflowing medicinal bottle of hormones that remained lodged in her woman parts. Maybe it's heat stroke, her mind pondered as it scuttled sporadically down the wall; then again[suggested her foot], it could always be malnutrition.Still, her throat agreed with her left palm that it was the two Midol that were situated in her stomach before the acid ate it up, and her kidney began believing it to be this as well as traces of it were beginning to be filtered out of the blood, more and more. Never the less, Lee remained still, remained lifeless, and abandoned, face down, soles up.
"My lungs are dying. My little helpless lungs, they are beginning to die, to rot, to deteriorate. I feel ill, I feel sick. Go away. I do not need you, I do not want you, get out of here." Lee yelled at her father, in her mind, "If only I could really tell him," she wished before she feel asleep. Sleeping, she realized how much she loved her house. Her dream was a slide show of photographed memories that she took of different areas of her home. She viewed them one by one, picking them apart down to the very bones, eating even the cooked veins, and greasy gristle, and Lee enjoyed so much of this that when she awoke, to her father's vulgar drunken slanderous speech, she awoke to an entirely different building. She felt hated. She cried. She knew the devils beverage educed, eye rolling laughter would never end, even with all the right words. She ate some more nitrous, swallowed her salivated liquids, searched for the endangered oxygen, and slept. In her sleep she dreamt of anger and cows, the Indian culture and drugs. She woke feeling sorrow, walked her hand to the blankets, and tried soaking up some of her gray matter that seemed to have escaped from her skull and had begun dripping down her sinuses; out her nose and down her throat, readying itself to be digested with the emptiness that Lee felt could never be filled up, with the exception of all the swallowed emotion, and any curious spiders.
The next day Lee awoke. She relocated herself as being alone and wandered out of her room and into the rest of her house. She read an intercepted wall post on an all to unfamiliar website, and found herself to be a topic of recent gossip. Learning that an old friend found her 'kinda dumb', she crawled away into herself. Two minuted after letting the information sink in she decided that she was feeling despondent.
Closing the internet window, she thought out loud, "Maybe i will put on some depressing music and go cry."
A short time later Elliot Smith was pounding upon the floor boards, and Lee was sprawled out with it. She escaped her body and watched the world mature, grow up, move on, without her. Nothing she did was right, or no one noticed all the correct things she did, and instead dwelled upon the terrible, hurtful, selfish actions she had once taken.
Lee felt betrayed. An earlier visit to an old friends house splashed its self upon her hippocampus; she felt lonely, friendless, unwanted." I am an old dog surrounded by puppies and we are all for sale," she thought.
She felt abandoned.
Later that afternoon Lee existed her room, and found herself sitting on the warm concrete in her westward facing backyard. The grossly over populated palms produced stomach churning sound vibrations against the wind to accompany the roar of a passing automobile and the high pitched scream of the power supply to the wired and stuccoed buildings that helped feed the fake, sasquatch emotion: power; that which so many are looking to achieve, looking to find. "I should wish to be a bird," Lees said abruptly, hopefully, loudly, though there was no one else there.
An ant crawled on her leg, crawled onto her hand. She began thinking of everyone who cared about her. She twiddled her thumbs. Then she thought about everyone who might miss her if she left. Next she tried counting everyone she might miss if she left, but found it difficult. She hoped to be able to count them on her fingers, but when she tried she found her self staring deeply into the white tight skin atop her knuckles. They reminded her of clouds, or tumors, maybe, cancer, maybe.
She dazed off, with her ankles dipped in her pool, her soles resting upon the top step; until a drowning bee tried attacking her shin. Lee climbed into her house, closed the heavy glass door behind her, sat in her computer chair sideways, and rested her head upon the hard, glossed, wooden desk top- along side the keyboard, mouse, dead skin, and smell of stale smoked cigarettes- when she began perspiring an all to intimate smell. It was a smell which reminded her of a family that she once belonged to; A family in which, to her, represented love at over excessive amounts, to the point of verbal, and accompanied physical, abuse. She tried bottling it in her nose so she could smell it later, but she grew to tired from taking so many deep breaths and decided she was made of wax. She began melting. Oils perspired from her outer shell, which had become soft and gooey as a stick of butter does after fifteen seconds in the microwave, and she base began molding to what ever it was that she was rested upon. As wax has no organs nor bodily functions Lee stopped breathing. She gasped for air, spitefully complying with nature. She felt like throwing up.
Hair pulled back, legs balled together with her arms clutching at her knees, stomach crunched and tight, resting upon the desk, Lee was suffocating.
And lying, dying, choking, mentally vomiting on every one she despised, Lee shook with fatigue. Her brain ran off into the deep trenches of the dark gray, -between wall and mattress- then the nothing-ness that owned her was beat down by fear, awkwardness, confusion, hate, and among the other feelings there was the overflowing medicinal bottle of hormones that remained lodged in her woman parts. Maybe it's heat stroke, her mind pondered as it scuttled sporadically down the wall; then again[suggested her foot], it could always be malnutrition.Still, her throat agreed with her left palm that it was the two Midol that were situated in her stomach before the acid ate it up, and her kidney began believing it to be this as well as traces of it were beginning to be filtered out of the blood, more and more. Never the less, Lee remained still, remained lifeless, and abandoned, face down, soles up.
"My lungs are dying. My little helpless lungs, they are beginning to die, to rot, to deteriorate. I feel ill, I feel sick. Go away. I do not need you, I do not want you, get out of here." Lee yelled at her father, in her mind, "If only I could really tell him," she wished before she feel asleep. Sleeping, she realized how much she loved her house. Her dream was a slide show of photographed memories that she took of different areas of her home. She viewed them one by one, picking them apart down to the very bones, eating even the cooked veins, and greasy gristle, and Lee enjoyed so much of this that when she awoke, to her father's vulgar drunken slanderous speech, she awoke to an entirely different building. She felt hated. She cried. She knew the devils beverage educed, eye rolling laughter would never end, even with all the right words. She ate some more nitrous, swallowed her salivated liquids, searched for the endangered oxygen, and slept. In her sleep she dreamt of anger and cows, the Indian culture and drugs. She woke feeling sorrow, walked her hand to the blankets, and tried soaking up some of her gray matter that seemed to have escaped from her skull and had begun dripping down her sinuses; out her nose and down her throat, readying itself to be digested with the emptiness that Lee felt could never be filled up, with the exception of all the swallowed emotion, and any curious spiders.
The next day Lee awoke. She relocated herself as being alone and wandered out of her room and into the rest of her house. She read an intercepted wall post on an all to unfamiliar website, and found herself to be a topic of recent gossip. Learning that an old friend found her 'kinda dumb', she crawled away into herself. Two minuted after letting the information sink in she decided that she was feeling despondent.
Closing the internet window, she thought out loud, "Maybe i will put on some depressing music and go cry."
A short time later Elliot Smith was pounding upon the floor boards, and Lee was sprawled out with it. She escaped her body and watched the world mature, grow up, move on, without her. Nothing she did was right, or no one noticed all the correct things she did, and instead dwelled upon the terrible, hurtful, selfish actions she had once taken.
Lee felt betrayed. An earlier visit to an old friends house splashed its self upon her hippocampus; she felt lonely, friendless, unwanted." I am an old dog surrounded by puppies and we are all for sale," she thought.
She felt abandoned.
Later that afternoon Lee existed her room, and found herself sitting on the warm concrete in her westward facing backyard. The grossly over populated palms produced stomach churning sound vibrations against the wind to accompany the roar of a passing automobile and the high pitched scream of the power supply to the wired and stuccoed buildings that helped feed the fake, sasquatch emotion: power; that which so many are looking to achieve, looking to find. "I should wish to be a bird," Lees said abruptly, hopefully, loudly, though there was no one else there.
An ant crawled on her leg, crawled onto her hand. She began thinking of everyone who cared about her. She twiddled her thumbs. Then she thought about everyone who might miss her if she left. Next she tried counting everyone she might miss if she left, but found it difficult. She hoped to be able to count them on her fingers, but when she tried she found her self staring deeply into the white tight skin atop her knuckles. They reminded her of clouds, or tumors, maybe, cancer, maybe.
She dazed off, with her ankles dipped in her pool, her soles resting upon the top step; until a drowning bee tried attacking her shin. Lee climbed into her house, closed the heavy glass door behind her, sat in her computer chair sideways, and rested her head upon the hard, glossed, wooden desk top- along side the keyboard, mouse, dead skin, and smell of stale smoked cigarettes- when she began perspiring an all to intimate smell. It was a smell which reminded her of a family that she once belonged to; A family in which, to her, represented love at over excessive amounts, to the point of verbal, and accompanied physical, abuse. She tried bottling it in her nose so she could smell it later, but she grew to tired from taking so many deep breaths and decided she was made of wax. She began melting. Oils perspired from her outer shell, which had become soft and gooey as a stick of butter does after fifteen seconds in the microwave, and she base began molding to what ever it was that she was rested upon. As wax has no organs nor bodily functions Lee stopped breathing. She gasped for air, spitefully complying with nature. She felt like throwing up.
Hair pulled back, legs balled together with her arms clutching at her knees, stomach crunched and tight, resting upon the desk, Lee was suffocating.
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