I left my words out to dry and the blood crusted and started to stink. In the sewers of my mind this infection festers and squirms, a disease eating me up from the inside. Through stain-glassed eyes I stare at the fruits of my toil, the hurt that I’ve caused and the pain that I’ve brought. I would feel if I knew how but the rainbow of your suffering dances in my head, taking up all the space. In these shackles I run wild, in this darkness I am the source. This condition of mine is eternity, a prison of my own design. This is me, and I.


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