The Blanket of a Parallel Dead Poet

“What happened to you?” he was asked.
“I was wrapped around myself, like a blanket, thoughtless of all that happened in my mind. I had become mesmerized in a world of falsity, and beauty and excitement and love and hate and bitterness and sweet thoughts of the exterior had all left me. No, they’d never been there. It was me, and the blanket. We were all we had, and we held on to each other like we were the air of one another. Then I couldn’t breathe, because the blanket was suffocating me, barring all the beauty and excitement and love and hate and bitterness and sweet thoughts of the exterior. I tried to breathe through it, but I couldn’t. I pulled it aside, and it pushed me aside, and it was me, and I was left with no falsity to keep me alive,” he answered.
“Welcome to the world,” he was replied.

Advertisements

One thought on “The Blanket of a Parallel Dead Poet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s