Ma vie, un mois d'août

Call up the doctor

We were home, drinking a bit too much. Alcohol is traveling my vessels.

Seems like I am indeed a tumor in his cells.
Just like it, I grow and colonise his space. I make it impossible for him to do his daily tasks. His cells, his being are all unable to divide, including from me. Completely mesmerised by my magic. I guess the glitter got him blind too, as he can't see my toxicity . I guess those same glitter drops got into my eyes, as my eyes always shine next to him. Could it be a medical condition to love this much ? May it turn into cancer ? How come everyone seems to know a lot of things except how to heal from this. Not that I want to get rid of it, just... Why does he think I deserve this ?

The line between what they call love and a mental issue is quite hard to find.
I don't necessarily trust medecine this much, though. Just as every company, they need to make profit. If it wasn't profitable, they would be selling brand items just like everyone else.
I wonder how the graduation of med students work.
Do they say : "Swear it, Hippocrates, in the name of the oath of Hypocrites that you will not kill! Certainly this child is dying but keep her alive until she dies." ?
I wouldn't be surprised. This type of biology can not heal my illness, it is my soul that needs a surgery. Call up the doctor ! My boyfriend too, he needs even more help... If love is contagious, I'm afraid he would infect other girls. I bet these girls would be better patients.
I am not a good patient. Don't help me. Let me suffer until my rotten being turns into ashes.
I bet even my ashes are not worthy of love. Throw them in a dead river. No fish deserves to meet such an useless piece of ashes. I may fool everyone by my sweetness, but the darkness in me is so dark, no flash light can brighten it up.
But here I am, admiring all this organic waste.
I am just a waste of time, money, efforts, cells.
How ironic, as a tumor is indeed a waste of cells.