Status: Being hastily written.
Sick.
Third.
You awake, your first night home and realize you are covered in skin; thick, slimy skin.
It has to go.
You make it to the bathroom in a stupor. You’re struggling to remember your head is still a hefty weight for your body. You can’t get up so fast anymore.
But you make it. You make it to the mirror. You make it to only be disappointed by that disgusting piece of shit. You hate it.
Your mantra begins; You. Are. Okay. You. Are. Alright. You. Are. Recovered.
You. Are. Lying. To everyone.
You are a great many things, but mostly just sick.
You are a lot of things, but she is much, much more.
You are a bomb ready to ignite. You don’t know what’s going to happen. They only hope for the best. But she is still around, and she’s angry.
It has to go.
You make it to the bathroom in a stupor. You’re struggling to remember your head is still a hefty weight for your body. You can’t get up so fast anymore.
But you make it. You make it to the mirror. You make it to only be disappointed by that disgusting piece of shit. You hate it.
Your mantra begins; You. Are. Okay. You. Are. Alright. You. Are. Recovered.
You. Are. Lying. To everyone.
You are a great many things, but mostly just sick.
You are a lot of things, but she is much, much more.
You are a bomb ready to ignite. You don’t know what’s going to happen. They only hope for the best. But she is still around, and she’s angry.