✓ | frozen

08. rage

He waits.

And waits, and waits, and waits—

Until he believes the pain will go away and somehow dissipate in the mornings—but it unexpectedly cruises during the nighttime—painting the walls with abandonment and grief as the canvas dilutes the pressure. He is an artist with a paintbrush he does not choose, accompanied by a world that dares not to end. The ink from his pen can not trace a single word, so it dances rhythmically to the sighs of loneliness—praying the ropes will loosen their grip and descend to the ground.

With the eyes of a raccoon, the man awaits the darkness, intentionally embracing the consequences of twilight. His chest caves after every inhale and exhale; tempting, his gaze follows the constellation and swallows the wind sweeping the window sill. A finger lifts and draws each droplet one by one, soon spelling out his melancholy; nothing upset him more than someone unwilling to give their all. Love contradicts itself in many ways; it's about giving and taking—except if someone does additional taking, then greed comes to destroy you.

'And pride always comes before the fall.'

To be sane is to be insane.

And Michael Jackson is insane.

According to his father, he lost his mind years ago—accusing him of being aloof, scatter-minded, or not quite there in the head.

Michael's father kills his imagination chunk by chunk, his heart attaching to each and later dissecting into grains of rice thrown across the sand. He loathes every inch of him, with hatred staining the fringes of his tongue—the young gentleman wishes he were gone, somewhere amid his troubles and torn from his bloodline.

A sorrowful boy, now transforming into a desperate man, wanders into a town full of suspicion—only led by the agony ripping a hole in his rotting flesh. He does not know whether to cry or pocket the tears from his drooping eyes. So, instead, Michael laughs as loud as he can till his belly aches.

'It only hurts for a little while.'

(This is a draft that I had in March/April that I sadly lost interest in—but I am putting it here for anyone who wants to read it.)