It's Rare That I Read More Than

I Want To Change My Punctuation. I Long For Exclamation Marks, But I'm Drowning In Ellipses.

Stop. Breathe Those Useless Breaths. Drop This Piece Of Life You’re Holding To Your Lips. Where Are You? How Long Have You Been Here? Stop Now. You Have To Stop. Squeeze Shut Your Stinging Eyes, And Take Another Bite.

When The Entire World Is Built On Death And Horror, When Existence Is A Constant State Of Panic, It's Hard To Get Worked Up About Any One Thing. Specific Fears Have Become Irrelevant. We've Replace Them With A Smothering Blanket Far Worse.

Last Winter, When So Many Living Joined The Dead And Our Prey Became Scarce, I Watched Some Of My Friends Become Full-dead. The Transition Was Undramatic. They Just Slowed Down, Then Stopped, And After A While I Realised They Were Corpses. It Disquieted Me At First, But It’s Against Etiquette To Notice When One Of Us Dies. I Distracted Myself With Some Groaning.

Peel Off These Dusty Wool Blankets Of Apathy And Antipathy And Cynical Desiccation. I Want Life In All Its Stupid Sticky Rawness.