Emotional Tide.

I haven't written in five days-

I take that back.

I've deleted everything I've written over the last five days.

I hate it, my writing, like I hate myself when in a rut such as I am.

So far down on myself the microbes at the bottom of the sea have envy for the depths of darkness I can sink-- but I'm trying to change the way I think (Mental Remodel anyone?)

Though, it's hardest when this vacuum of my emotions takes hold. Sucking all the good things out of focus so all I see, hear, and feel is the bad. Things some might consider trivial or insignificant, yet I want to gut myself and watch the blood pool, but I don't.

I sigh, rutfaced, trying feebly to rub the grimace from my mask before someone sees it; from my mind before it roots too deep.

I can't.

Not completely.

It forever remains to resurface in my consciousness, willing me to expose the degradation I feel by marring my face with scars to mirror the damnation this part of me wants to embrace. To make my visage as ugly as my insides.

"You have a scar on your face" I remind myself, to no avail, my own mind countering without hesitation-- pointing out the almost perfect symmetry of the scar down the center of my chin and how it's rarely even noticed, for over a decade now.

While I'm arguing with myself about how to turn my skin inside-out, I realize I'm just trying to substitute my pain and turn it into something I know how to deal with.

Scars I can see.

Wounds I can treat.

Damage I have a choice in... because the unfortunate truth is, I don't yet know what to do with the shit, or how to handle it.

So, I relent to contemplate if I ever will, in relative silence, knowing the violent loathing will pass with the next emotional tide.

|| another_proser ||