Placebo...(28/11)

Hanged above the height, and driven by the conventional wind, the mind loses a time of solidity. There may be slight transformation, and a form has been deformed to an unrecognised freaky vision. This kind of hallowing is tightly bold by the materialistic presence of substitutes, or better known as placebo. I do not know how long it can last, but at this point of time, it is really paralysing. No hope, no will. The sorrow-less pain simply exists in the format of satisfaction, horrific.