penumbra of a former self
The blood is running down my hands. There is no way to stop it.
Not that I want to.
We've been taught from an early age that pain is bad, pain is discouraged against, pain is undesirable in our pleasure seeking society. But pain is not any of that. My pain is blossoming, the total encompassment of all that I have ever known.
Maybe its simply because I can no longer feel the pain. In my blind rage, I've struck at this wall, at that desk, and it releases me.
I can taste my pain, and it feels pleasant.
Cathartic.
And thus, i fear, begins my descent.
Not that I want to.
We've been taught from an early age that pain is bad, pain is discouraged against, pain is undesirable in our pleasure seeking society. But pain is not any of that. My pain is blossoming, the total encompassment of all that I have ever known.
Maybe its simply because I can no longer feel the pain. In my blind rage, I've struck at this wall, at that desk, and it releases me.
I can taste my pain, and it feels pleasant.
Cathartic.
And thus, i fear, begins my descent.