a rot begins

I'm searching for a silence I can sit in. But I behave like a wild, cornered animal when the opportunity comes. It flings my body aside and stares me into a terror I can not face. I am not that brave.

I have too much inside that I don't want to hear. I fear all the little truths that attempt to address me just as I sleep, just as I wake. They may contain the recipe of my death.

In response to my denial of my Self my mind has decided I will die a slow rotting death of the flesh. It is it's way of calling attention to my lack of inner fortitude. I have depended on this outside and I am being presented with the possibility of it's waste.

It conjures that one day I may lay in an immovable, stricken body, alive as I ever could be. Looking out into a world I could never be a part of again. Burning alive. With no ability to live. And this is the only true terror I have.

I can lay safe and comfortable in warm soothing baths and in a second the thought of immobility and sickness creep into my mind, creating a body made to be my souls cell and I gasp and stiffen. holding my hands to my face, wiping, wiping the thought away. I sweat, even in water.

I am avoiding the inner truths and now they have come to trick or treat me, to fuck me until I listen as a child would to the Self truth, one in which I fear I will die.

But this is my cowardice baying at it's own superstitious moon. It's not a question of if, it is definite, I will die. But as with everything, within my death is my rebirth.

I am intent on this suicide but I would rather have the sword of an executioner on my neck.

I am a lazy killer.

A coward of sorts. Hari-Kari this ultimate silence is, brutal.

And I'm avoiding the cut, to which my inner response will be another sickness dining on my body tonight. I am a great horror show. I invite you to watch the story that plays on my minds screen.