YARN.x

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

You are wiser, right?.x

You see him looking at you from a distance, focusing on himself as he walks down the halls with tight strings of old yard knotted to his wrists and ankles. Wherever he goes, the yarn makes him move down the pathway and he keeps his head down out of fear of the reality he doesn’t yet understand. The people of the world follow him constantly whispering yellow words of “wisdom” into his ears and he breathes out the pure oxygen he is slowly losing with due time. As they overflow his lungs with their expectations, they begin to tug on the strings. He fights back, resisting with opposite force but is soon overpowered. The people fight with power of voice and exert more condescending demeanors and mindless reasoning to the boy. He is resilient at first, however, the fight is slowly dripping out of him. The drifting images of his aspired dreams are soon replaced by the misconstrued and tampered future now created by the power of the ones pulling the strings.

Every morning you notice the aging of his physical being and he walks slightly shorter and slightly slower in hopes of getting through the day and still keeping his wrists and skin intact just as he protects his identity given to him but drawn at random by the wind. The people surround him for longer each day as if they were a pack of leeches on the heart of a wounded one, screaming out for help in a field of raging fire. They fill his hands with papers and claim they will teach him how to survive and gain knowledge, however, he does not have the strength to look up and realize they papers are not only feeding the fire of his destruction, but are now allowing the fire to reach his mind as he throws himself in the papers in hopes of escaping total and utter depravity. The beings now hover over him with a stronger grip of the ropes than the strength he has over his own mind now. He realizes he can not resist anymore because he has the newest experiences in the world at which he now exists and is dammed to until death do him part.

You see him everyday with more excuses as to why he remains under the control of the beings. But you must be wiser, right? You believe you would never be as weak or as ignorant to let yourself fall into the endless tornado of loss and you must have been raised by a better mother who taught you well, right? So you pity him and you close your eyes and your mind, shielding yourself as to what is really happening in front of your own eyes.

You see him again at night walking home in the shadows of the world covering his face. At this point, he is so tired and mentally drained from the constant mind games strung down the line of people in the day past. He hangs over faint with nothing but the strings to hold him up like a rag doll sewn to his master, dragging him along the path they want to go. He has now only become nothing but a puppet to the one who has the power and ultimate control of his loosely sane mind and slowly fading to nothing. Now emptiness holds his thoughts and they leak from his mind and become speechless emotions lost to the drowning of the world. Thoughtless and motionless, the boy looks deeply into the reflection of the dark window presented to him and makes eye contact with the host he has possessed all along. You are now staring dead into your own eyes and into the loss of power as you are dragged to your bed to lie motionless with the knowledge of what has become of you. You lie there cold with grey skin till morning breaks and a painful reality becomes a deadly reminder of who you are.

You stand there, looking at yourself reflected in the darkness of the glass in front of you and you walk down the hallway with your head draped with the shame of reality. Shielding your eyes from the ones who look at you and admire your “well-being”. For they can not see you are more a walking, lifeless puppet to the world at which you both exist and your eyes have been open with the strong winds of reality. The yarn immobilizes your fingers, restricting all control you may think you have over yourself. It cuts deep into your skin, drawing out the hope and red blood that you once owned but is now sacrificed to the idea of survival in the world holding the strings of all the mindless puppets.

 

But you are wiser, right?.x

 


Submitted: November 27, 2015

© Copyright 2021 ThinkingKills. All rights reserved.

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