squid ink.

I am twisted. A ghost. Sometimes I don’t even bother with the mask.
It is not necessary. When everyone
Sees through my walking death.

You know me as I was.
I am returned; not even half.
The pain tears at me. Relentless, strangled, breathless.
Panic.
Paranoia.

I beg.
I pray.
I loathe her.
If you will not release me, let me feel the high numbness.

This is not living.  This is not a life.
This is terrifying, excruciating, torturous,
Slow death.

Ribbons of silky black liquid envelop me,
Strangle me
While I am encouraged to seek comfort from their warmth.

Heart rate.
I am frozen. Here.

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