They were there, always staring through my bedroom window.
It was inevitable not to feel admired by those faces reflecting anxious
thoughts to go out, so I always proceeded to put on makeup and wear something
sexy. I pretended not to see them under any circumstances, but to feel them,
understand them, please them and feel accompanied by them. I noticed how their
hands were dirty while they held their cell phones, it was unbearable to think
how much infection and putrefaction there would be in their rooms, in their
beds, in their lipids, in their galleries. They are tired of the monotony and
the burden of society, their cheeky hands rejoice in feeling the unknown,
penetrating the softest and most defenseless sheets. They come with their
unholy, dark, twisted thoughts but thoughts, nonetheless. They call me Eva and they used to shout my name behind their windows, begging for some mercy and
company. Many of them with blank, frozen, static, twisted, dominating gazes. My
name is Isabella and I feel that I can no longer harbor any more dark and erotic
thoughts than those that are already stored, I no longer felt or thought; it
just existed.
I felt dizzy, I felt nauseas and anxiety. Nothing that a
long shower can not solve, or a call to someone in the middle of something, or
both. I always feel for talking with someone to keep in silence the voices in
my head. Some decisions may affect your mental health but promote your
increases. That is a decision that each of us make every day. Choices and
plans, and there I was, bending over my messy bed smoking some marijuana and vapes.
Nothing else matters when you are tired all the time. Is a constant fight between
me and myself, clean my room, get it dirty, repeat.
