i braid my bitter memories into a dark rope that I noose and knot and hang from a beam.
Sitting here now, i contemplate that circle of black nostalgia and I close my eyes and imagine the feeling of all those emotionally barbed moments tightening around my throat.
I cannot breathe and I realise I am holding my breath. I gasp and draw a great gulp of air down into my lungs. It is tainted with the smell of regret and unfulfilled longings. It chokes me.
I see the circle of my disease. The unending loop of memory and creation that haunts me. A sacred infection.
An obsession that has become me. It is my blood, my breath, settled in my bones. Touched by madness. It grows within me, tainting my life with black filaments of insanity. It makes me solitary, shunned by the people who walk in blissful sanity. They sense that there is something twisted and dark that lurks within me. It fills them with fear and revulsion. It is my sanctuary. A dark and silent cocoon that wraps itself lovingly around me and smothers me. What will I metamorphose into? What will emerge when the cocoon splits and I am released, changed?


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