eat the pie

Things that hurt the most are often hardly a second thought to the distributor. If the person blows up however, things may perhaps seem to be different.

The thoughts roll around mindlessly in the brain, swirling and flinging themselves about. They bounce off each other in this expanse but every once in a while, one escapes. It flits down to the mouth and is propelled in the air, hurtling like daggers to a victim in which to pierce the emotions. It is flung into the air, free particles are exposed to it and it finds its mark. It goes through the snaps of the winter coat. It goes under the scarf, through the zipper, between the buttons and it hits skin. It penetrates it, burrowing deeper and deeper until it smacks into something warm, beating, and versatile. The danger shall take place.

I am sorry.