I find myself to be a place.
A place ‘where the actual and the imaginary meet’. A place where I go to listen to metal music, the only one that helps me find peace. Where I go to read books and breathe (both of which I do painfully slowly). Where I go to ‘sit down and bleed out’ on the paper and maybe get a chance to write something down.
I am made of fire and water. Also, my birthday is in December.
Do you know what pain looks like?
You claim you do.
Who are you trying to examine?
I do know what pain looks like, but I’m still here.
This pain, it’s acute. Hurry up. I’m turning all pale and chronic.
Are you happy now?
Of course you are not.
Isn’t this agonizing, even for you, while you sit there in the waiting room?
I’m burning, but it’s not a burning pain. There’s something else.
It’s in my chest.
‘The patient is a 22-year-old female, admitted to the hospital for dehydration, weakness and sharp chest pain.’
You sit there, drinking your coffee and wishing you could light one up, but this is a hospital.
You sit there, anxiety riding your back like an experienced cowboy, and you care.
You do, but not about the same things.
You examine different things.
You don’t care about getting rid of excruciating pain.
Don’t be afraid to tear my heart apart. Practice makes perfect.
Why not tear it apart? Go extreme, you’re the scientist.
A top-notch analytical mindset.
Draw the blade. Choose to dissect.
It won’t hurt.
No, you were misinformed. Nothing will hurt.
Stop inflicting. Start deadening.
I don’t care if you don’t care if we part.
I don’t care. Rip the curtains.
It’s intense. Are you ready to admit?
You’re here now.
In severe mental harm.
And I’m too close,
This is absurd.
I’m used to this.