Wounded

The pain induced by my horrific addictions and prolonged actions of despair are the sole reasons of my suffering. Despite all the random bursts of excitement and gay smiles, I am a wounded soul. Never engaged in a war, I fell, injured and close to death, while I was going about my day. There were many days like this. I will try to recall some of these encounters with this corrupt death as well as I can.

It was often that great celebrations brought about sudden, unexpected situations which invaded my body, infiltrated my mind, arrested my emancipation, and raped any reasons I had left to stay alive. I had no choice, or so I thought at the time, but to surrender to these terrorists, making me fall deeper and deeper into states of such a rusty familiarity. The states of the human muscle we call a brain are very complex. I have explored and travelled through most lanes, discovering new alleyways with every step, and these journeys brought me to the realization that the only way to abandon pain is to abandon the illusory attachment we have to our mentals. While not identifying with the blood filled tissue of cells inside your head, you become emancipated from the density of thoughts; the burdens we all carry daily.

And so it was this attachment to the internal world inside my mind, and the overpopulation of thoughts, that brought me so close to insanity. I found escapism in affection towards women. The beauty they endure was my savior, and without this factor, I would have ceased to exist.