wounded

Awoke today with a mind full of twisted metal; jagged edges piercing me.
Feeling wounded, not knowing why.

Something terrible is happening.

I’m feeling it. Clinging to my skin like a toxic vapor; sliding into my lungs; coating my insides with slick poison.

Sober now, there’s nothing to be done about it.

Can’t cudgel my senses.
Poison myself with a clear choice of consumption.
Give myself a tangible reason for feeling like a toxic waste dump.
Be in control of it.

No more of that.

Now I’m just a passive recipient.
A blob of wounded tissue massaged with filth against its will.
By a psyche it never controlled.

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