The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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long time, no scream of consciousness

thoughts like syringes as they impinge on the membranes of my brain inside my head again and again and I'm helpless to prevent the constant torment that will not relent and leaves me feeling spent, rent, wrested and bent, twisted and rusted, discarded and scattered on the floor in a photograph aged and tinged with nevermore

they will not escape like a deathshroud draped over my struggling hands, tearing, claustrophobic, to be free or as free as can be, at least. A cease, a peace, that's all I seek and to peek out from beneath the shealth where I'm sheltered and kept drowned in tears that I've wept oceans that swept me away days ago. My own worst foe; this much I know, in the fight to break out and face the light or the dark or whatever awaits in terms of my fate beyond the gate of this fiercesome self-hate that needs to abate, especially of late- I debate


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