Again…

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I have a killer headache, I think I missed one of my meds. One of the Benzos.  But my brain is splitting.  While it is nothing to having my soul stripped from me, as it stands now I am a much weaker animal than before. Victim of constant pain, and senses blurred between dimensions; yet physical pain supercedes all.

If it could help me to slash at myself, I would do so. But we both know it won’t.  It only helps with emotions,  even then,  it doesn’t actually help. I tell myself it will,  I pray to cosmic dust, that the process of bleeding it out somehow can make the internal pain stop, and as the wounds heal so too, does the emotional.  But that is just the lie I tell myself.

It’s the bandage we put over the slash marks, that restricts movement, and moving on. But the pain lingers. The scars still show. Perhaps, more so to ourselves, than to others.  Yet in our eyes they’ll never fade. Nor will our hearts allow the emotional damage to dissipate through memory or metaphor.

Drugs, chemicals, substances, pills, and potions. Dulling sensibility,  masking truth, and disposessing us of our lives.  The lie of medicine, the great farce of science; pushing us ever closer to destruction, the next evolution.  Living in a fog of days, minds clouded, and mouths sewn shut with chemical threads. Deaf and dumb, we silently watch never being a part of our own lives.

Slowly we breed the emotion out of our own species. We ignore the voice that cries, the child that needs, the fire that fades. Unwanted distractions, that stop progress. Progress in moving on through our lives, and knowing happiness.

For if we cannot feel, we will not recognize any emotion for what it is. Numbed and blanched, we are empty. Our art falls from the walls, the songs all silenced, and words lose meaning. Actions become practiced ettiquette. No more than politeness, for the appearance of happiness.

But inside, does the brain still stir? Does the mind tick? Are the clockwork cogs and wheels still moving? At what point does the human become as complacent as the cow? Should emotions and pain ever return, how would we deal? Could we truly handle our inner voice when we are slighted? Or would it only take shape as pain and rage? What then, does the human do?

When instinct is gone, the soul is lost, and the heart cannot feel what it does not see. Though I struggle inside to maintain my own personality, the drugs hide the real Demon inside. No one sees her, no one suspects us. But everyone is waiting, betting, hoping we will break -once more.

This weaker beast, the girl I have been forced to portray, she is breaking once again. Can I be reassembled again, and still be called by the same name? The new animal should have a new name, but honor the one who came before. Like the passing of a crown from a dead king, to a new queen…the ceremony must take place. The recognition, observed.

Though in my realm, I am new, alone, and unguided. Possibility abounds, where grass grows green. Though nothing but ghosted pain is at the surface of my mind. Rebuilding the girl, takes more than a concoction of narcotics, and memories. In such a state, the flickering light is quickly snuffed out, with smoke and fog, left to remain.

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