the intrusive nature of my life
i hate myself because i hate myself. it's a sort of endless self-defeating cycle. do you know the lamentable feeling of having the taste of your own flesh constantly lacing your tongue and teeth? how can the hatred of self make mankind feel complete? by some kind of hope born through dark trenches and long corridors? are you truly alive if you are endlessly devouring your own tail? come one, come all and gawk at some kind of fucking creature choking on her own spit and viscera and stumbling down the stairs.
and the hilarious thing is i have no reason to be this way. i have not experienced one ounce of trauma so why do i go through life with the anxiety levels of someone being hunted for sport? can a useless prey animal make itself known though sheer will, despite its fate? they will eventually be devoured by someone better than themselves. therefore, there is no place for them to belong. we are all welcome here, aren't we? you dip your toes into the world of self-hatred then suddenly the shadows get longer and the thoughts get shameful. and the mind gets darker and the world gets greyer. i think the french call that l'appel du vide?
anyways, you know the imp of the perverse by poe? when you're on the edge of your cliff and think about falling do you want to? you're descending into your own hell when you think of such things. surely the imp placed these shackles on my mind and it wasn't myself that did this to me? we are all welcome here, aren't we? even those who have been poisoned since birth?