impulsive, explosive, compulsive, vitriol. bitter, dark thoughts and words twisting through my mind, blood on my tongue. salty. iron. ugly, contemptible. can’t look at my own reflection in the eyes sometimes. the tears sting like needles in the corners. i found myself wringing my hands thinking about it all. wringing my hands. such a useless, sad gesture, that i thought once only existed in literature. trying to wash my hands of all this, failing. you would think that it would be easier, that i would be better at coping with it all by now. that the deception would come easy. and it does, in a way. but then, at the end of the day, at the end of the choices, i’m left alone. it’s not even the aloneness that kills me. it is the realization that even if i weren’t alone, i would be in the choices i make and the deception i choose. i will always carry that in my heart. it is my rock to carry up this mountain, and fuck it, i will never make it to the top. that sentence almost turned defiant, victory an imaginable thing, but imagination was never my strong suit. at the end of the day i am left with the ugliness that is inside me, i am left with the same sad lies i tell myself. i am left to awake at night already sitting up, tense as a fucking taut string, ready to go snap. oooh, violent imagery, sarah lee…..