Today I am sick. Yesterday I was also sick; I will be sick tomorrow as well. My ailment has disfigured my mind and warped my perception. We do not exist on the same plane. This frail, scar-striped vessel which contains my consciousness is breaking down as I fade deeper into inner space. My muscles are wound tight like steel cables, my jaw clenched like a vice, and I spit slivers of chewed fingernails and broken teeth from my leering mouth while shrieking white-noise suicide propaganda to anyone within earshot. I am noxious, unclean, and worse yet, I am perfectly cognizant of the fact that I am slowly, painfully falling apart as my sanity erodes further with each passing second.
I hate myself and the world around me. I’m trying to bury all this anger, but it keeps on burning right back through. I want to recover and be human, or at least something closer to human, instead of just hiding inside of this human shell. I don’t know what a human is anymore anyway. Maybe I am one and I’m in Hell surrounded by mocking demons masquerading as people. My head is swimming in a fugue of bad intentions and I should not be alone right now.
Ce la vie.
Towers of Rust 