war

i had almost forgotten the emotional charge of crying. amazing how much energy it consumes. still, it bears no relief. the tears, instead of cooling the down the inner turmoil, are like drops of acid rain: eating me up even more. crying as a therapy never works for me. instead of getting some sort of precare peace, all i end up with is read swollen eyes and a stubborn headache that goes away neither with pills, nor sleep. plus the trouble in the morning of caching it somehow to avoid stupid questions.

some day, i think i will simply tear in two. there is no sign of a truce. the me who loves me and the me who hates me wedge war an the me who loves me is slowly but steady losing ground. it is a calm, soothing, dignified me and it was not made for war. it is weary and receives but feeble support. the me who hates me... i wish it were violent, blind hate. it would be bound to make a mistake at some point. instead, it is cold and calculated, the hate stemming from steely scorn and contempt. it is coldblooded but when given the opportunity, it strikes with precision and fierce thirst. it takes no prisoners.

and me... i am hurled up in a corner like a frightened child. i hold a torn teddy in a frantic sweaty grip. i tried screaming, but no sound comes out. i am reduced to silent, uncontrolled sobbing while watching a twilit smoking battlefield that is my soul. shreds, pieces and bits of it hang around limply. and all i want is to close my eyes and make it all go away and feel safe and warm and cuddled. sometimes i even manage. until the next scream errupts and i widen my eyes in fear.

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