Sisyphus

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The fear I feel for my emotions rolls up, down, and curls between every atom that is known as me. I failed to think for myself again; wasn't this supposed to be grand?

Or did I convince myself that the snarls and whispers of the experienced people I know as friends know better than my core? How can it be so easy to undermine myself? Am I learning? Is this experience?

I think I'm better without this. Whatever this is. I don't care.

If I don't care then why does this happen? Every time I feel something strong, so strong that I can't help but to jump, squeal, twitch, and engulf the things around me that make me feel such ecstasy. I dream of it becoming who I am. Twisting and pulling at my organs till I bleed out and become reborn again.

Yet what I dream is what I dread.

I'm not supposed to be alone as I bleed, and yet as soon as the red shines through, my chances of rebirth freezes. Then melts into the ugliest black.

Courage what's meant to save me, but it dripped away into another's mouth. The little I had slips into noting more than what I started with.

It took years to build myself up with every bit of stick and string that I acquired, I did my best to give it a strong structure but all it took was a puny tug for it to crumble. Those crumbs now shout and taught curses into my ears, they say I can never build myself back up again. There's no more material left to use, I used it all o build up those few bricks I had. The voices were right.

Just as I had started, I am nothing.

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