One call away they say, with face paintings red and white, while blue jays pass by and perform a good and utterly sweet dive.

One call away where mice crawl amongst the humans, almost as if their imitating the lemmings, in a place where decorations are a symbolization of sophistication.

In, in a world where not one human being answers me, so it makes me think am I even human, no it must not be, must be that I am subhuman. One call away, or so they say, face full of make up, eyes filled with decor, glitter, red lipstick, you name it, these beings are really out to get me. Take me, strip me of my clothes, take away the modesty of which I preserve, take away my dignity, toss it in a furnace and expunge me like a cow. Like how the owner of the cow prepares the little calf, by soothing its stomach, by playing lulibys, by showing affection and beguiling the poor little thing, only to aim its weapon directly at the center of its temple and there you have it another dead mammal. This is exactly what the phone call feels like, absolutely strained, not once was has it rang, till this day I wonder, where are beings, and if we as a whole have fears and human endeavors, why is it that we as a whole impede those endeavors from forming, or even obtaining them. Is it that with fully obtaining these goals and main objectives we may lose purpose, or a sense of pride, what might it be, see I write this to fully acknowledge that the phone does not ring, since it does not ring, it’s not willing to pour out its heart and sing to me, so I feel a sense of shame, that causes the pain of a bee sting. I’m not sure, but I’m still lost, not being called, really goes to show there is no one in this entire world, in a world of a million, I meant to say in a world of a billion, many roam the streets, many act upon illogical beliefs and tend to tear the sheets. Many people that dwell within specific penural communities are placed on section A, then to B, making their way to C, such a sight to see, another being struggling in a world so advanced, yet the people around them don’t provide them a chance, people around here act like they care, really their absolute mendacious beings, that beguile me continuously. Wondering why these complications arise, and as they present themselves, how could I possibly surmount, because giving up would result in nothing but me being a crestfallen subhuman individual, who is not exactly seen, see it takes you to really recognize me by looking under a telescope. Deeply scrutinizing, on what the actual being I am, so what do you exactly nothing but bits and guts, while the gust attacks me, while the zephyr on the left stabs me with its pointy edge, made of nothing, nothing the naked eye can see, yet I feel pain, coldness growing and spreading each time and each time.