Status: one-shot; completed
Scrub Off Insanity
1/1
Scrub it until it comes off, scrub it until it comes off, scrub it until it comes off…
It was controlling, it was demanding, it was completely necessary. They were there; they were feasting on my flesh. Well, not anymore. No, not anymore. They were dying; dying with the flesh that falls, the blood that spills. They were losing, they were going to waste. I was the victor, the one that claimed all the triumph. I finally destroyed them, killing every single microorganism that dared stain my skin cells. The blood, yes, the blood was there to heal the wound. The blood was not the wound; on the contrary, the blood sealed the wound. They were gone, but they’d come back – they always do. That’s why I had to make sure they didn’t.
They might be everywhere, but I’m following. They’re there, but I’m here, and they won’t be able to defeat me. I shall conquer them; obliterate every single creature that dwelled in this miserable place. Some call it home; I call it a battle-field. Every day, every waking moment, I was fighting for my life. It was brutal, it was gruesome, but it was needed. They couldn’t win; they couldn’t claim what was mine as theirs. They had to vanish, they had to die - they had to meet their demise.
Scrub it until it comes off…
Blood was necessary, it symbolized effort and efficiency. My hands… my hands were not vital. I could live without a hand. It was a sacrifice, this pain, this anguish; all deemed necessary for the extermination of those microscopic pests. Nobody understood how dangerous they were, how easily they could obliterate the whole human race. No, of course not. They were blind, foolish and stupid. Exposing themselves to such dangers – no; not me. I was not blind. I could see the danger, I could fight against it. I was the salvation of my own destiny.
I will be victorious, and my hands could fucking rot for all I cared.
It was controlling, it was demanding, it was completely necessary. They were there; they were feasting on my flesh. Well, not anymore. No, not anymore. They were dying; dying with the flesh that falls, the blood that spills. They were losing, they were going to waste. I was the victor, the one that claimed all the triumph. I finally destroyed them, killing every single microorganism that dared stain my skin cells. The blood, yes, the blood was there to heal the wound. The blood was not the wound; on the contrary, the blood sealed the wound. They were gone, but they’d come back – they always do. That’s why I had to make sure they didn’t.
They might be everywhere, but I’m following. They’re there, but I’m here, and they won’t be able to defeat me. I shall conquer them; obliterate every single creature that dwelled in this miserable place. Some call it home; I call it a battle-field. Every day, every waking moment, I was fighting for my life. It was brutal, it was gruesome, but it was needed. They couldn’t win; they couldn’t claim what was mine as theirs. They had to vanish, they had to die - they had to meet their demise.
Scrub it until it comes off…
Blood was necessary, it symbolized effort and efficiency. My hands… my hands were not vital. I could live without a hand. It was a sacrifice, this pain, this anguish; all deemed necessary for the extermination of those microscopic pests. Nobody understood how dangerous they were, how easily they could obliterate the whole human race. No, of course not. They were blind, foolish and stupid. Exposing themselves to such dangers – no; not me. I was not blind. I could see the danger, I could fight against it. I was the salvation of my own destiny.
I will be victorious, and my hands could fucking rot for all I cared.