Penultimate

Reading up on MKUltra.

I can feel it.

Its seeping darkness stains my bones black. The skin on my limbs is slipping away.

I am a bluebird that can no longer fly. My wings are clipped and worn thin with fluctuation of activity.

Chatter. Clothing my ears. All I hear.

Chatter.

I inject my veins in an attempt to strengthen over and over, just to fall down like the last standing pawn slapped away by one impudent and tired.

I have been renamed one thousand times.

I am everything I am, and they are everything that is me. I am simply art for Michelangelo to carve, sculpting my crevices and valleys until I become something that satisfies.

Withdrawal becomes me.

My death is penultimate.

Reviews

[Woody]

very well written. but what sadness and what pessimism!

[Chloe]

I don't really find it a subject to be pessimistic towards. I encourage you to research Project MKUltra, and maybe you'll be able to understand a bit more of my perspective.

[Woody]

I certainly will. thank you. sorry if I misunderstood.