Lucien's Lil Nook

I can feel the energy in my body pulsating, vibrating, pushing me forward to do something, anything… fulfilling. My excitement for creation, to pull words into threads and weave them into something. The way I yearn for the ideas in my mind to form into drawings, prose, or pictures, it’s addicting.

And yet, I cannot push myself that point.

The wall I face seems insurmountable. It stretches from the top of my head to that dry patches on my heels, and it halts every sensation in my body. My mind spins, questions pour out of the pores on my skin and fill the space around me. I try in vain to answer them, but the swarm is too large, and the closer I get, the more likely I’ll get stung.

It seems simple.

I have an idea,

Something that births energy into my body,

And I create.

But nothing is ever that simple,

And I have never been a simple person.

And so I strive for simplicity. I organize my life in blocks of time that are supposed to mean more than self-imposed rules. I live between those lines, authoring their meaning yet rebelling against their tyrannical imposition against my life. I am both parent and child, but I cannot move past the hatred I hold against my own father. And I have realized that I’ve become him, my father, to myself.

And I shudder at that notion.

I traverse that swarm of questions, my body throbbing as the incisors of maws that these words have been spoken from seep their venom into my veins. I claw through the terror, the questions of my own validity as a person who merely wishes to exist. But that’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Especially for myself.

There is no light at the end of this tunnel.

There never has been, and there never will be.

There is only me, and this hell. And I reach out, grasping a mouth, and taking a bite that tears through flesh and bone.

I eat.

Consume.

And the room falls silent.