ritual

[Lavínia]

I brush my teeth with white toothpaste, realizing I've applied too much pressure and slowing down before my teeth hurt more. I look at my eyes, hair, and teeth in the mirror, trying to find a resemblance to the face I know. Yin. I crack my knuckles in three different ways, listening to the constant dry sound, and trying to hide it to be the only one. I walk to the bus stop hurriedly, feeling my legs burn and my breath become unsteady. I laugh and talk about stupid things, opening and closing my mouth, blinded by my ignorance and wanting to stay longer. I swallow a spoonful of food from my lunchbox and taste a coffee I always drink; it could be made by three different people whose names I always forget, with no further variations. I get a random candy for something I didn't try hard for; I eat it without liking the taste or texture, just feeling the sugar, accompanied by a slight tingling in my throat. In the shower, I make faces, forcing my facial muscles to release some kind of stress. Yin.

A rite, ritual, pattern, mania, habit... A man's cigarette, a woman's wine. A child's drawing, a mother's hope. Money, affection, pain, drama, romance, revolt, hatred. Patterns, patterns. Cycles, cycles. A painting with a face stained. A restoration that honors the lack of a face, and imitates it.
I step more, I cry more. I laugh more. More blood, more noise. Yin. Hotter, more desolate. Blood has the same smell, the same color, and the same feeling. Iron, red and dreamlike. Chains of tendons, nylon tongue and fig feet. I will sleep, and wake up. Sleep and wake up. Sleep. Sleep. Yin. Yin.

 

[JeyJeyOfJeypore]

Your mind. Nice place you got here