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my soul and mind suffer too much. my impuissant body can serve as a scapegoat, it always does. i am seized with an impotent anger, i can't feel anything as i slash and slash through the pale skin, creating a sick art work, using my body as my canvas. my already full canvas, yet somehow i manage to find an empty piece or go over some old art work.
laying on the ground, imprisoned in my own misery, skin sticky with the remains of my anger. the shame is there, but it's worth it. the numbing effect kicks in, it has helped. i fool myself into thinking my anger will ebb away. i took it out after all. i've overcome it. survived another night, another week perhaps. i'm in denial but i know damn well that when the time comes, it'll catch up to me, leaving me entirely paralized.
