Talking, but the words I utter dissolve before making an impact.
Singing, but my melodies are background noise, not payed attention to.
Crying, but emotion doesn’t slice into the hearts of onlookers; instead, they watch on as though my pain were merely an ant on a leaf.
Dancing, but my feet are numb, stepping in a rhythmic yet dull patter; a pattern that goes over and over and over again.
Writing, but the words inked on my paper reach no one, my extracts of the world I perceive being cut off from other views.
Wishing, but with no way of carving them into my every day.
Hoping, but not being able to hope properly.
I have a perfect oven, that is perfect in every way.
It looks perfect, and bakes everything perfectly, even if you are a terrible baker.
I am a terrible baker.
I can’t even make a decent cookie, let alone a cake, but ever since I got this oven, I’ve been baking like a pro.
A few days ago, I made a perfect chocolate cake!
That may not sound like much, but the thing is, I missed out pretty much half of the ingredients, including the CHOCOLATE!
And, hey presto! When it came out the oven, it was beautiful!
It was chocolate, moist, and rich, and I didn’t even add any thing related to chocolate!
But today, I was making a sponge cake, and when it came out the oven, it was BURNT.
This has never ever happened before.
Something is wrong with my oven, I started to relies that when green smoke started pouring out of my precious oven!
The man stood there, frozen in a block of ice.
His expression a mix of confusion and happiness, his hair wispy and grey, his weak figure reaching subzero temperatures.
If you look closely, eyeing up every inch of him, you can almost see his body trembling because of the frigidness surrounding him.
‘The Ice Man’, people call him, as of the mans current state, trapped in a frosty block of solidified water.
People would sit in front of him, and study him, pondering his life and his unfortunate fate.
Perhaps he was a magician, who would astound his audience with magical feats and whips of his cape.
Or maybe he was a store owner, charming his guests into spending far more than intended.
Whatever he used to be, no one thought much about; their main interest was about how he got into his new way of living (proposing that he was still alive).