The smell of fried garlic is still clogged in my nostrils. The electric fan seems to produce less and less air everytime its head turns to me. It's ironically a hot evening - the aftermath of an eardrum-piercing, sleep-cheering rain the night before. I'm currently hooked up on MTV. TRL fans are screaming for their lives just now. At other times I would sneer at those larynx-puking fans (I couldn't imagine Einstein screaming for some people as crazy, or Snoop Dog or Manang Alice, our somewhat embittered care-taker - please keep this hush hush!). But at other (other) times, I envy those people. I wish every single second of my life was a voice box-breaking, TRL Studio-wrecking scream!
I'm sort of tired being locked up thinking. I don't want to play mad trying to knock so hard at this head of mine - I doubt it if someone else is in here. For the longest time all I have been hearing are my weary inhales. I'm still waiting for a scream. For an exhale. Because unfortunately I'm still inhaling, just.
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