Sweating it out until nothing’s left

As this growing heat permeates my body and I am unable to stop it, I just let it consume me for a while to see what it tasted like.  It tasted very bad and left a salty aftertaste on my tongue, inciting bitterness to linger for too long. It’s not self-infliction; it’s merely the result of my body’s attempt to drain the foul smell of impurity that results in guilt.

Veins are showing everywhere, as if the blood-flow is rushing crazily; only an accumulation of wasted thoughts and second hand feelings going in circles and you’re too much of a coward to break free.

There is this negative force that you depend on, and it absorbs the only energy that you have; the precious energy that you could use to create something of value.

 

Lately it has been hard to focus and distinguish the real from the unreal, as if I’ve been dragged closer to the border of where the two worlds meet. A secure smell would linger on my hands and arms, like fiction coming to life.  And you realize this is too good to be true. And it’s happening to you and not the others.

 

Melancholy stung me like a delirious wasp spreading a sort of numbness, which was overkill. There are times where the potion of anger is too inferior to melancholy and there is no more strength left to hold up the anger or you simply chose it that way. Thank God it’s only temporary.

 

E. never chose to be weak, except just the once. That was ok. I never resented her. Sometimes you are curious what that the kiss of death tastes like. She likes the evident risks, because she is strong and determined. She survived that kiss. Here is my superego working against me like every day…

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