They strive to be happy, they know not why. They're nothing more than common people. They don't care. I don't care as well. Abominable creatures, should I call them? What other impression do they exhibit? Sometimes I ponder. Though I know its just futile sorrow, depravity, frustration, defeat, suffocation that plagues their existence. They can't breathe. The oxygen isn't just enough for them. Their blindfolded eyes have long gone unnoticed. Nobody cares, not even themselves. Perhaps, its all forgotten now - the real truth. They grope forever, and every step brings them little but bloody shards of estranged loneliness. The red brine flows, but to no use. And their faces hide in an inexplicable blankness. Fear, shame and grief in all make an expression that screams out for mercy. Pretensions of their faces are left uncared for. They are often needless, unjustified and unfathomable.
I do not understand, what do they live for, why? Its not a question, but rather a pity i would say. Their lifeless bodies live like jute puppets stuffed with black charcoal. In my mind, they don't smile, they don't frown, neither do they cry. Zombies in their heads, they keep breathing without a purpose till there's no more breath. Once, it just so happened that they glanced at my face, and raw hatred shrieked from hell. My ears were deaf already. Souls without a destiny is what they are. They haunt you like a plague if you be merciful. Don't be human in front of zombies. They'll suck out life as easy as parasites. They are people insane. Cannibals. Gothic. Lost. I've seen them more than God. They are puppets who pretend to be happy...
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