2: Breaking Point

Propaganda littered the streets. Everywhere I went something was being said in four words or less. Some how, some way you would be saved. People moved in and out of focus ignoring the path I carved through them like a dull knife slowly cutting through raw meat. I saw things the way they actually were, beautiful and so god damn scary. I had no idea if they were ever intended to be seen this way, without filters or some metal block constantly making sense of it all.

Then the relapse hit, and I was back on the ground. Concrete came rushing towards my face as I lost it. My hearing went, and I couldn't make out the muffled shouting. The chemicals running through my veins finally turned on me, then all at once consumed the little nerve left in me. I had to get out of here.

Everyone has their breaking point, mine just took forever to find. Maybe thats why I'm so fucked up. I began to recount the number of steps taken to lead me here, but darkness was spreading with the cold not too far behind.