Containment.
Something I've struggled with for years, now. There are always catalysts that set the system off, and then I have to immediately fix them. There used to be another worker who would help, but he got sick of seeing my face so I opted him out of the program. Things have only gone downhill from here. Everything is only temporarily okay before it no longer isn't. The systems won't cooperate with balance and I am only one person. I know if I get another worker in here shit will only hit the fan and the system could completely shut down. Bad enough it's already trying to self destruct. The top tier maintenance team has no time for us. They won't come for another month or so, and even then they require something we don't have in order to be considered a priority. This facility is eroding but I'm too dedicated to give up. I couldn't ever let my mother know I failed the system, she has enough to deal with on her own.
Puzzles piece no longer fit and I am extremely frustrated and I am alone and I am only one person! If I scream no one will hear. The system has a way of handling those kinds of things. It'll give out data externally in little fits. This is complicated so I cannot explain. The system causes me pain and I know it is itself also in pain. It prefers isolation but gives off data in angry fits. Lashing out with each burst. I cannot contain all of it because I am only one person. Everyone else's systems seem to be in order, mine is bitter and controlling. I am trying my best but I am only one person. No heavy procedures could fix this alone, there is a long process the system doesn't want to go through. I am helpless but only I can do this. Anyone else would only make it worse.
Everyone else has made it worse.
And I am yet still only one person.
...
Interpretations and extras (corresponding song, picture, etc.) to be added later
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Volcanos hate control
Short StoryA collection of excerpts and metaphors describing hate, frustration, memories, and lost letters. Letters covered in salty tears and bitter flicks of the wrist as they were born onto white lined paper.