Feeding -my- flame ~Zoe

Insanis


Eyes on fire
Your spine is ablaze
Felling any foe with my gaze
And just in time
In the right place
Steadily emerging with grace

I grip the knife tightly in my head, slowly but surely scratching away at the wooden surfacer of the table. Gotta focus on the job at hand. My hand begs me to stop, I would be to, what has it been, three hours? Of my just scratching at the surface of this table with this kitchen knife. It started light at first - lighter than a feather, nothing more nothing less. And the longer I scratched and poked at the wood the more weight was added, like the cat next door that constantly seems to put on weight as time goes on. Scratch, scratch, scratch. I started off doing nothing in particular, just scraping and scratching to see what would happen then I developed a purpose, something worthwhile doing.

And then it went back to nothingness, nothing but arcane.

I'm pretty sure nothing in that sentence made sense but fuck it I'm tired.

I wish I had a purpose, something to do, I wish I had anything to do other than than scrap and scratch this table. I wish this was real flesh and it was blood not wood dust coming out of this, That's what knives are for, nothing carving stupid partners on a table that can't scream or beg for mercy. I take a quick glance around the room. Empty, no cries for mercy, no one to bother me. The silence is defeaning, I'm not used to having all this free room, before I came to the Keeni house I had all the space in the world, then I had no space - I fucking hated that - and now I have all this space again I feel as if I'm going to suddenly going to be swallowed whole by the empty air,

I never thought I'd admit it but with no Willis, Pyrian or Gypsy this place is as quiet as a graveyard.

Hah, it's funny cos they're dead.

I can't help but keep carving the patterns, I'm half expecting the usual, some random Keeni to burst it doing whatever and me to get up and snarl at them to fuck off. They'd either try to fight it or back away - I expect the former since I have a knife in my hand but you never know with these people. So irrational, so illogical. I mean we do have someone that was willing to fight me for a cat so that sums up that. But no matter how it goes the end result is always the same - I'm left alone in this same empty room and I have nothing to. Well there's carving patterns, there's a new hobby I found. If I close my eyes I can imagine this chill, dense wood is soft, warm flesh and this saw dust from the carving is red and the hair straightening scraping are horrible, but satisfying screams.

But I'm met with disappointment because my imagination is nothing like the real thing.

This room is all too familiar, this table always sits in the middle, permanently branded by my boredom and a sharp knife. And it's all too weird - all too familiar but also the silence is all too defeaning and arcane. Well, besides the constant scraping that's setting my teeth on end and making my wrist feel like it's going to wrench itself out of it's socket. And despite how I love having all this room to myself there's always a point where it's just too much room. "Fuck this," I whisper to myself and I stand up from the wooden chair and drop the knife half - branded table. I need something to do, anything but this,

I storm out of the door, messaging and rotating my wrist constantly and gritting my teeth from the ache.

I find myself in the middle of the tiny corridor and without thinking I turn into the first door I find.

And what I find makes my jaw drop low but my heart drop even lower. Mess, clutter, disorganisation, pandemonium, a fucking disaster! Items that I don't even bother to identify law scattered around the floor. This room is a junkyard and it makes me want to spew all over the fucking floor but I don't, that would just make an even bigger mess. I've never been OCD but I still have the common sense to be organised - this is far from even the bare minimum of organised. It's almost unspeakable, unbelievable...unthinkable. My eyes scan the room, the mess cluttered around the floor - it's a map and my dark eyes scan every little bit of it until I find the one person (no, not person, disgusting slob) standing in the middle of it. I stare the slob right in the eye, not daring to even move my gaze."What the fuck's this?!" I ask, not even bothering to hide the distaste riddling my voice.