I cringe at the sight of me, my tears hot and unwelcomed.
Why is my default always sadness? Was it in my childhood... in my conception?
I feel the joy in me trapped tight with my cells. Like a cell, I wait for the key to unlock these doors.
And the keymaker is dead.
The keymaker has long been dead.
I suppose I am addicted to the thick of it, this pain game.
How my mind toils around the suffering I feel in my neglect and loneliness.
That should even a lover move inside me, the gaping emptiness reappears.
I claw at their flesh and scream out in pain. There is no more pleasure in my lovemaking, I am dead.
Alas, the game of life is too visceral and deep. I fail to withstand the blows of capacity.
The storms of which brew me into being. The beating heart that bleeds and bends.
No...
I cannot take the weight of this gravity. Please I beg you, though it always goes unheard...
Liberate me.