I am sitting in this chair.
I am looking at my hands...or past them.

As I sit on my chair, I looked out my window by me and my chair.
It was freezing outside, the snow acted out as a frigid hurt blanket.
I saw a pig walk down the road, it's body was mutilated and covered in ash and words.
Blood was spilling out from carvings and slashes on it's abdomen, it's face was graffitied and caved in...yet it continued to walk.
It unintentionally created a trail, but one that led nobody to nowhere.
It fell down and, even though far away, I could vividly see the breathing get slower and slower.
The warm pulsations of a breathing organism, the kind light that it holds inside, slowly died.
I imagined someone talking about someone else being unrecognizable.
I was smiling in my chair and it felt like a virus.
My grin was bleeding.