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About Deviant Call me WoolsenMale/United States Recent Activity
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    Silence, not of sound, but of all things. Sight was the first to flee, not a lingering after thought stayed in purview, it was drowned out by darkness. Taste was strangest to lose; You don't notice taste unless you are using it, but when you start to notice it when nothing remains in your mouth, it is an odd sensation. The taste of things not there, the light bubbling of a soda, the sting from a fresh pepper and last the taste of nothing; a bitter drink trickling down into the corners of the mouth the slow aggravating taste of a dullard sense, soon it would fade into the same oblivion sight had found. The final severing tie to reality is touch, because your eyes may lie, your tongue can delude, your nose can forget where it is and your ears can remember where they have been, but touch. Touch is different, touch can not lie, delude, forget or remember. touch can only do what it can do, feel. It can feel the draft of the wind crawling through the wind, it can feel the cloth running through its finger, feel the cold chill run up your spine as you feel a pair of craving eyes staring at you through the cloak of shadows, but are there eyes after you? you are too scared to check, if you make any sudden movements they will with you, if you try to find them, you they will pounce, if you try to run they will chase. And like the rest touch grows numb. Smell, such an odd sense, they say it is the sense of memory, they say it of all senses it brings you the most memory, and they it is the hardest to describe. But the sense of memory, can remember terrifying things, horrid things. memories brought back from the darkest recesses of the mind, the smell of blood, of chill, of rot. lingering thoughts of the dead follow these smells, and now they follow you. But despite all these silence the silence hardest to achieve is the silence of sound. Because you can always hear, the creaking floor boards as weight shifts on them ever so slowly, the sound of your thoughts screaming at you to run, the sound of a breath getting closer and closer with each passing moment, the sound of your heart as it manically drums in your chest, faster faster faster fast fast fast- stop. silence, true silence.
So i need a place to place my writing, but I've never like Tumblr's archive system. Reddit is a forum, not a blog, my own blog would require too much uptake. the back alley of the 7/11 is being occupied by Pablo, who after the pool noodle incident still has a grudge(BTW Pablo, if you are reading this I am so sorry to what happened to your mom.), Fanfiction.net is not dignified enough... Hmm... what to do. Oh I know! I will post it on an art sight.
    Silence, not of sound, but of all things. Sight was the first to flee, not a lingering after thought stayed in purview, it was drowned out by darkness. Taste was strangest to lose; You don't notice taste unless you are using it, but when you start to notice it when nothing remains in your mouth, it is an odd sensation. The taste of things not there, the light bubbling of a soda, the sting from a fresh pepper and last the taste of nothing; a bitter drink trickling down into the corners of the mouth the slow aggravating taste of a dullard sense, soon it would fade into the same oblivion sight had found. The final severing tie to reality is touch, because your eyes may lie, your tongue can delude, your nose can forget where it is and your ears can remember where they have been, but touch. Touch is different, touch can not lie, delude, forget or remember. touch can only do what it can do, feel. It can feel the draft of the wind crawling through the wind, it can feel the cloth running through its finger, feel the cold chill run up your spine as you feel a pair of craving eyes staring at you through the cloak of shadows, but are there eyes after you? you are too scared to check, if you make any sudden movements they will with you, if you try to find them, you they will pounce, if you try to run they will chase. And like the rest touch grows numb. Smell, such an odd sense, they say it is the sense of memory, they say it of all senses it brings you the most memory, and they it is the hardest to describe. But the sense of memory, can remember terrifying things, horrid things. memories brought back from the darkest recesses of the mind, the smell of blood, of chill, of rot. lingering thoughts of the dead follow these smells, and now they follow you. But despite all these silence the silence hardest to achieve is the silence of sound. Because you can always hear, the creaking floor boards as weight shifts on them ever so slowly, the sound of your thoughts screaming at you to run, the sound of a breath getting closer and closer with each passing moment, the sound of your heart as it manically drums in your chest, faster faster faster fast fast fast- stop. silence, true silence.

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Call me Woolsen
United States

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