Why does illness flow so naturally through my veins, pulsing in my head like a ripening tumor? Why does my soul so openly welcome such foul stirs, bearing their expectation and coating me so effortlessly with midnights misfortune?
It taints all that I am and like animalistic impulse I attempt to gnaw away at this disease which is me……nails down to a nub…..fingers raw with pain. But it is nothing to compare… Nothing to compare to such lack of feeling.
To be so numb is to be inhumane and though I cringe with an awkward forced gulp like the backbite of sour aged whiskey….my disgust is so easily forgotten as its intoxicating embrace takes hold of me… but soon left again with this ever so familiar absence, I deeply, obsessively, secretly though not discretely yearn for such fickle things I know nothing of…. but so much about.
With time these yearnings ferment into an enthralling hatred which consumes my thoughts and weakens my stomach with begrudging apprehension.