What is it?
A self made Melancholy? I guess.
Can it be cured? No, but it can be avoided.
No, it’s a wound. A wound on my left forearm.
It does not bleed itself, it doesn’t heal either.
Stop lying to yourself !! It starts heeling every once in a while
You scratch it yourself. You peel it’s skin.
Yes, I do. I don’t let it heal.
Stupit wit, Don’t you know how good it feels when it hurts?
You can never imagine the pleasure, the ecstasy when
I dig my nail in it, and the red droplet oozes out
and I get what I love; a halucinating pleasure and the ink for my poetry
You’re stupid brain. You don’t know love.
I won’t let this wound heal.
For without it, I Shall be so idle ; a void with nothing but vacuum,
And there’s no solace in idleness,
I love this combat with thoughts,
It is my wound and I won’t let it heal.
I’m waiting for something. Infection. A fatal infection.
That’s what I’m waiting for.