literature

Atlas Shrugged

Deviation Actions

Published: Sep 7, 2014

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Literature Text

Suspended in the retrograded ocean of spirits: this auburn turns to glass as soon as I try to break the surface. Unhalted overflowing blunt facts pouring from the 99 bottles of beer (smashed) on the wall, and still the force of the collision between my body and objects is not enough to defibrillate my heartbeat. My blacktop was a colorblind father who could not distinguish between black and blue on my own skin; pumped-up kicks to the abdomen or ribs as screams for help were muted by theology. Home has hit me with the force of a thousand tomorrows (for someone fearing the future while resenting the present and wishing to change the past); and the trauma of a child who learnt there was no room under the bed to confine all of your demons (while you run and run and run and run further to try and reach safety). So I slipped away to rot within neglected flaws (tired of being told to accept primal “love”). My secret escape was far too professional; since no one could discover me, I’m afraid I’ve become quite anesthetized, dangerously self-applied. (switching between lethargic and worthless or angry and illogical: disgustingly like you.) With the gravity of a degenerating atmosphere finally settling in on my shoulders far postpartum— you may as well, call me Atlas and nothing else. since my previous identity has liquefied to breathe between the unspoken letters labeling this M I S T R E A T M E N T