therapy

Judas

My fingers slip.
The palm of my hand drums viciously against my own skull but it doesn't shatter into pieces.

I have a storm inside of me.
Something I am unable to control.

It grows and grows and eats me.
From finger to knuckle.
Heart to Soul.

The stars twinkle brighter than they ever did. The dark clouds make it hard for me to open my eyes and see them. I curse the world and myself daily.

Let pain happen.
Let it wreck you.
Let it shred its teeth into your flesh.

Don't show weakness even if it beats you black and blue.

One day you understand the pain.
The pain I have once felt.

The pain of a fallen angel.

You see, life is a phenomenon.
Something we have no control over.

The way we perceive our homeland lays in our emotions.

If one feels beautiful then the light of God is in his favor. If he cradles the baby inside of his adult body, the sound of children's laughter feels like a fresh summer breeze.

But if one had no joyful feeling withering in his bones, the whole word is covered in a noir filter.

The sound of children disgusts the man. The view of light blinds him. He seeks refuge in the dreams he lives with closed eyes and detests the Garden of Eden roaming outside his isolation.