Wound

 

The beer bottles bubbled

with the cheers and jeers of the world   

A salty fizzle he found too poisonous     

A toxic to his psychedelic garden            

Of well-grown words so fragile.                   

For how does an afflicted mind deal                         

With the minds that show what afflicted him?

              The laughter, the wit so foreign,

                       from disparate shells of flesh and brain,

           Taunting him to be what he could not be,

                             To do what he could not do.

                                   And their happiness

   Invaded his despair with a strike,

                                A numbing wound

                              Overflowing

with turbulent memories

Waiting to break out

and destroy him.


I feel awful. It has been two days since that moment and I do not find any sign of recuperation. I should have just slept the night away. I should have ignored or refused to care what they always say. But their voices drowned the voice in me. I forgot what afflicted me, and it came back to me like a wound in my left hemisphere. It is a numbing wound I feel, not like the hammers of headaches or the shock of toothache or of any body pain. It makes my mind feel heavy. I find it too difficult to decide. I had to lied down for around 15 minutes to 2 hours before I can do something, within those time periods

I would fall into a lapse where my mind would feel like glitching.

My skin would feel like it wants to convulse and shake.

My eyes would feel like blinking.

I wanted to cry.

It is painful, but a numbing pain it is.

And it saps me of my energy, my eagerness.

I don’t know how else I could render the experience. I feel like breaking down every time I recall it. And it feels too much of a blunder to turn this blog into a personal journal smorgasbord. I hope I can go back to routine soon.

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