Hello? Is there anybody in there?Icicles are growing in my veins. They pierce and prick, cold sharp knives, until they're melted by blood carrying the drugs to my brain.
Drugs. Take more drugs. On the one hand half are forbidden to us, on the other half are pushed down our throat. The legal ones are just as expensive, the drug pushers just hang out in nicer neighborhoods. Your local hospital. They tell us the cost is due to research expenses, while they take doctors to Hawaii and show them their nice shiny new products.
I am not a shiny new person.
I like old things. I like things that smell of smoke and wood and varnish. Things that someone has loved, or things that someone has abandoned. I like drawers that have held secrets, rings who've adorned many hands. I like the power of ancient trees, groves of redwoods smelling of moss and rot, decaying leaves providing life. The living feeding off the dead, because that's what life is. Only now the living feed off the living too, and the living dead walk among you, swallowing our pills, gazing in the mirror looking for that faint glimmer of life deep within our eyes.
You should look at us carefully, watch out. When that glimmer becomes a flame, the world will change. You will be able to live off us no longer, and then what will you do?
