Your Voice Is A Gift

Your voice is a gift, he said, sing!

How can I sing with a split lip that I got from the kitchen door when I wasn't paying attention, it hit me hard in the face three times.
The memory of that day is still fresh in my mind, I try to forget that the pig who did it is stinking in the basement, buried under a layer of rotting potatoes, would it be dangerous to eat from it if something would sprout from the little light that shines through the window? How often did I hear the footsteps of passers-by and I couldn't ask for help with my mouth taped. It's strange how even the blood didn't make the tape come loose. Duct tape is an adhesive tape that doesn't stick only when it comes to mouths, wrists and ankles. The inventor must have known it just like the one who made super glue with which you can't stick the sole of a shoe only human skin, such as eyelids and private body parts or stinking wounds that make you fester inside. Under the table lie Devil and I, and in my hands I hold the pages of my diary that I have not yet sent. My stomach growls and I feel exhausted. Is it because the kitchen is not as cold and damp as the cellar or because the long fasting is now taking its toll?
I close my eyes and do not pray, If there were words they have all been said. I think of the grey water that is churning before me and that can carry bodies to distant destinations unless it gets stuck on a branch or a stone or some scoundrel sails over it in his boat. Is that a sailor's grave and is everyone keelhauled or has that custom long since fallen out of fashion? My hand cramps from writing on pieces of newspaper, and my eyes are red and inflamed from staring at the paper where I write my diary between the sentences printed in the newspaper...

...The youngest serial killer in England is a child...

Is a 15 year old a child and if so why do you have to work if you are 12 and it says adult if you buy a aeroplane ticket? I see the chemtrails in the sky and they all point in the same direction, is there a hurry? It was the first Monday of the month and the alarm did not go off am I the only one who noticed or is everyone sleeping under the kitchen table because the war is now a fact? I draw lines with the point of the knife on the underside of the table. Will anyone ever read the message that I scratch into the wood? The knife shoots out and I cut my wrist... it is unintentional and a blood leaf. Devil sleeps on undisturbed. He is a predator but not interested in blood. I saw the first flower bloom between the grass and it is purple.

Diary is it Monday? I have no idea of time. Sometimes I am awake and I draw lines on the wall with my finger like I did as a todler. I made a mural with my blood it doesn't look bad at all. I listen to nothingness while I lie under the table, it is always dark and it is no longer raining. Did anyone receive my message in a bottle?
Tomorrow when I am not so tired I will venture to the water there are still 9 bottles that I can send or is it better to go to the bottle machine first. I asked the wanderer and she says that every bottle can be delivered no matter the shop and at the Jumbo Supermarket there is a separate entrance where it is warm. She says the supermarket has free coffee even though I do not like it it's worth the try if they let me in. I believe I stink. I counted the bottles there are exactly 79 that I cannot carry. How do I solve that problem? Devil is not strong enough. I could use a dog, one that pulls the cart.

_{17.3.25
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Prompt: your voice is a gift - freewritehouse}