miasmatic

i am an insatiable hurricane; quietly violent and reckless to the touch.

i want to throw up every last drop of blood and ink and poison from my shivering body, until the strange hollowness i constantly feel is fully justified. i want to grab at my chest, wrench my ribs gaping open, and carve out my constricting lungs into prettier passageways so that i could finally breathe right again. i want to drill a hole at the back of my broken head and let all the awful thoughts come flooding out, i’ll let it grow into a sizable puddle and use the vile colours to cover up an empty canvas with pretty shades of hysteria. i want to scream, and scream, and SCREAM until someone listens to me, until someone is disturbed enough to care—i just want to know that i’m not invisible. i want to freely love and be loved without the choking fear of losing myself completely, but no one should ever have to suffer that way.

and me. and me. selfish human being, desiring an impossible life. an impossible life of happiness. of normalcy. of simplicity. of even just being fine for longer than a second. i want to find a soft spot beneath the earth and bury myself alive for a few centuries, hiding forgotten and patiently waiting until everyone and everything i used to know has inevitably gone away with the passing of time, and maybe then…maybe then, there would be a chance for me. maybe then, i wouldn’t have to keep desperately wanting anything for once. because then, i’ll only have what i truly need.

is that too much to ask for?

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