The Dead Dirty Things…

I can hear the bugs, the insects as they tempt me. Scratching through the hollowed out walls. Begging and pleading for me to bring them more. The sound of their legs scratching against the wall of my skull. They want more. They hunger, they crave the flesh they need. They need more bodies. The dead things that seem to be piling up around me. Now is not the time I want to scream into the night.

But wants and needs were never the same thing. I need this feeling to settle as well. This uneven feeling resting inside my brain. “I hear you,” I release finally. “I hear you,” I begin to weep. Scratching and digging at my own flesh. “Please don’t hurt me. Please,” I beg. As suddenly as it came the tears go away and I know what must be done. “Who though? Who this time?” I ask between the scratches, between the calls for more. The sound of laughter erupting from somewhere within. Silent at first before the fit becomes overwhelming. “You want more? I’ll get you more,” I scream to their never-ending symphony.  

I grab my keys. The time to hunt is now. Time to take a drive and see what we find. Parks, streets, the world littered with throw away dead things. They crave flesh and I crave the blood. Together we live off all the dead dirty things life has to offer. Together we can all live for another day picking through the rot and decay. A smile comes over me. The feeling of relief even if only over a thought. “Collect the dead dirty pretty things. Collect all that life forgot,” I whisper to myself as I stalk through the night.

Valerie Hannigan

Recycling is a very important part of life. We all need to do our part or let it all burn. Trying to persuade anyone to do anything is exhausting. Do it or don’t do it. I’m over pulling my hair out because people can’t stop shoving things up their nose. If it hurts then why are you doing it? Just because your brother does it. Doesn’t mean that you should do it too. Figure it out already. Jesus…

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