Gamers Random Tales

Rot

(Don't mind this. It's just a short poem I made based off my inner thoughts.)

I feel itchy all around.

There's this black mold formulating on my tanned skin. It feels scratchy and uncomfortable; a hint of sting to it too.

Everytime I notice it, I always feel it growing further.

I try to ignore it, but it's too obvious for my mind to not focus on. Sometimes I even miss out on important subjects whilst staring at it.

Nobody's noticed, all they notice is the flaws it brings. It's made me dumber and easier to trick, lazier and harder to teach; It's even made past issues worse.

It lives in my head. It's like a parasite. It started there and now it's at my hip.

Years of work. All of it pushed down the drain from this growing rot. I always wonder what'll happen when it fully forms.

I won't need to ask anymore soon. It's coming up closer and closer.

It's a bright day for the clean.

I want to be clean.

I've always wanted to be clean.

Why can't I be clean.

So many impurities. They're the feeding ground of the rot. If I were clean, I'd be ok.

Why can't I be clean.

I hear a distant call, but I can't hear them over the blur of my mind.

Why can't I be clean.

Looking down at the blade, I wonder how sharp it is.

Why can't I be clean.

The knifes blurry. Everything's blurry. Is it from tears or my mind?

Why can't I be clean.

I raised the knife.

And yet, I never jabbed.

I felt a warm embrace. An embrace that felt pure and refreshing, almost like soap.

I whimpered in their arms, regretting my decisions as i crumbled in their embrace. There's something odd happening.

They whispered to me, repeating a phrase I didn't hear before. One I'll never forget now.

"With enough guidance, anyone can be clean."

...

I don't feel itchy anywhere.