Gunshots
In this line of seconds, I hear gunshots from the clocks, like everything was natural, was truly mundane and everything flowed like blood from the heart, unless you realise there is no heart to begin with, or the heart is nothing but every thought that appears unknowingly, creeping up inside the white walls of forgotten despair, but you had to see it, you had to witness your own maddening sickness unto death, and the simple act of "not doing anything" seemed exceedingly difficult, while getting out of this maze seemed difficult too - so you froze, you froze inside time, never going back and never walking forward, you look at the clock and you are blinded by movements, deafened by the sound of gunshots killing each second amidst the frozen silence, but during everything the world went on without the slightest perversion, flowers and food bloomed from nowhere, tigers died in childbirth, butterflies appeared, so natural was the violence of moving that it almost got unnoticed by...