Lacklustre Saint

The very (non-)pretentious exploration of mental pains.

Happy hurts

I wish I could quit the night and seek the light, but the light is only in my head, a spark of my imagination and a coping mechanism. If light ever existed, it has fled the crouching darkness and quit the reality of my life. I want to scream a different reality into existence, but my voice have deserted me and my vocal cords protest the effort. It is all gone and there is no way back, no forks to take along the way, not even a crossroad to summon my demons. The food turns to ash in my mouth, th...
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Eating your meat well done is like being a middle-aged man, being asked for a fuck by the most voluptuous 20-year old you can imagine and then waiting 40 years before actually doing it. ...
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...but first some definitions: RAGE - violent anger, often so strong that it cannot be contained, becoming the instigator of violence. WRATH - extreme anger, so strong and so intense that it is only attributed to deities and parents. FURY - violent directed anger, providing an outlet for overwhelming feelings. My veins are on fire, blood have been replaced by overheated gasoline, coursing through me is an explosion begging to express itself. My hands are fisted, clenched tightly shut, finger...
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She worries so, her head always trying to figure me out. Always on alert for what excites and pulls at my sense of adventure, searching for the thing that makes me tick. She doesn't understand that nothing makes me tick, not anymore. Life have lost its allure, its bright colors and strong aromas. Life is dull, like the tip of a hot dog. Life is gray and gloomy, like the former union of the USSR and only the smell of rotting fruit kernels permeate the air. I see the lackluster clearly, the thin ...
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She scowls and clicks her tongue, her lovely face takes a bitter turn and her eyes tells me she's disappointed. Her face recovers quickly, but her whole body screams disgust and disapproval. Only the verbal is in her control, all her other languages are screaming at the top of their lungs. Be happy she says, stay true to yourself. I am and I will, even when she scowls and her conversation is limited to jeer and scorn. Because no-one has ever made me happy, only staying true to myself even come...
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Open palm slap to the face, fists to the skull, angry eyes staring at me. I cover before those eyes, I feel weak and deserving of everything I have coming. It's my fault, really it is, it's not just not something I'm saying. I should carry the blame, shoulder the burden. I'm sure it's my fault. I wish I could cry, cry this hateful angry person out of me, release him and let go of the hurt and the anger. I wish I didn't have to hurt you anymore, that I didn't have to bruise and punish you every ...
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Home is where I am a minority, a place where I do not fit, where I am the round peg to their square hole. They openly stare with manga eyes, showering me with abashment for the way I dress, the way I talk and act. I wish for stares, but different ones. My mind wants to command them to worship me, but they see only an ugly duckling. I hide behind the perpetual scowl, with eyes dead and shark teeth ready to strike at a moments notice. I am dead, indifferent to their scorn and ridicule, I am the r...
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My partner calls me attractive, but the mirror shows varnish barely covering a rotting carcass. Like decaying wood, spewing black fetid tar, with splashes of paint dabbed all over it. I have accepted that what she sees is not what I see, but I still want to scream at her to find someone better. Stop wasting your time on me, you are not that young anymore, go find yourself someone that's not ugly, not damaged. Be free, be happy, but it won't help, she would stay anyway. She tells me I have admir...
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I am consumed by guilt, for every word out of my mouth, she talks back, beating me down with words. At every step, she walks right there beside me with those accusatory eyes, staring me down, making my head bow down. For every action, her response is the stick, curving my back, killing my posture. With every breath, she's there telling me I don't deserve another. How did I become so consumed with guilt and shame? I did not murder or commit any crimes, well at least not any crimes hurting other ...
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