My own sorrow

To say that human emotion is so cosmic is sometimes, all times and very much a lie. Why? You expect me to answer something I know but I cannot explain – it’s important to learn what you can even learn from those indescriable things; even though if lectures cannot be given on it and that you can only dissect it temporarily only to see it come together again.

Like the reality of another dream my sorrows wasted itself on a grand thing that was me and I soon started hating it so much that I thought it was best to cut out the sorrow.

But the sorrow was everywhere – starting from the tips of the fingernails, the soles of my feet, the inside of my belly-button and the inside my ear, etcetera. It wasn’t going be easy to cut out and I suppose it was always trying to hide itself. Why do others find it easy to cut? They cut and cut and cut

But – they don’t seem to mind anything and the blood washes away their rainy days. But, I find it so awful to cut one specific place so maybe if I lie on a a bed of needles then stab my body incessantly I can get ride of that melancholic surprise that awaits in my body/

Then that person comes and asks me what I’m doing. I glare at him:

” Can’t you see that I’m cutting and cutting and cutting and cutting!”

And the skin runs crying like children on a playground of blood-sanboxes and blood-swings and so many little bloody-things…

Then wires stick to me and I hear voices – yes the pain must nap, the pain must nap, the pain must nap –

” The pain must nap! Nap!”

” Hold it there – yes, this person here is losing her mind!” Whose that loser?

I am fine
I am fine
I am fine
I am fine
I am fine 

Can’t you see

I am fine…


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