Lets Tear Their Flesh Apart Tonight

I’m engulfed by a sense of profound silence all around me. People say that silence means the absence of sound but I disagree. Silence is the sound of a blank paper, a white canvas, an empty dark room and a hungry mouth. I want to break this silence.

I want to scream and spill ink on the paper, cover the canvas in frenzied ecstasy of paint as that of Jackson Pollock. I want to illuminate the room with light so that it breathes life into the lumps of dead meat lying astray in there. I want the hungry mouth not only to be fed with the most delicious food to satisfy its hunger but also with a few questions to feed the hungry soul’s brains.

 We need food. We all need light and a multitude of ink and paint spilling and dribbling everywhere as if a pack of hungry wolves are set afree after a long time and now nothing, absolutely NOTHING can stop them from seeking what they want. I know its dark and the woods are cold, but I know for sure that the wolves would sleep a sleep of satisfaction tonight.