I have been left distraught.
Distracted so easily by this pain.
My life has become a perpetual state of suffering.
You would imagine I would get used to it by now – perhaps I have. Perhaps, that is the worst part of it all.
It is my masochistic friendship with this pain that pretends to be noble.
It is all a disguise.
I inflict more pain upon myself.
I just want to feel again. I just want to feel something.
I keep talking about this pain inside of me, except it’s a weighted, blunt expansion of the black mass in my chest. It pushes outwards in all directions. It is a force more than it is pain.
This force needs to stop its constant thrust – I have no energy to push back with.
I don’t collapse because it does not push me down.
It pushes out.
There’s a child inside my chest that can’t take the reality of this world anymore.
She just wants to come out. She is trying to propel open a hole in my chest, and escape. She tried to burn the hole – the heat inside is getting too much. It’s scorching me.
Her tiny hands are unbelievably strong. Like a newborn’s grip around her mother’s finger, she’s trying to climb out of my chest.
I don’t want her gone.
I know she’ll take my heart with her, like a bagpack swung over her shoulder by the aorta.
But the heat.
And the rage.
The anger makes me go blind.
I go blind with the anger.
I can no longer hear her screams.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Everything is burning but I am calm.
Last night was different though. Last night I could not control it.
I stood against the car, taking a drag of my cigarette breaking down in whimpers, like a little bitch after being run over by a car.
But when he came by, I beat him up.
I was so angry, I would have killed him.
In that moment, I wanted to kill.
Other lives are valuable.
I made him cry.
Then I cried.
No wonder she said I emotionally abuse.
Because I feel too much and can’t make up my fucking mind.
Emotional expression is overrated.
But it is vital. For communication.
Wag your tail.