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Rain of Venom.

Emotion swirls
all around, subtle storms
of vibration
attacking me,
the rain of venom never
fails to saturate,
staining through to the marrow.

My kingdom
for some callousness,
an armor of thick psychic skin.
Sensitivity to this degree
is torturing,
counterproductive
to hope, meaning, pleasure,
whatever remaining threads
of sanity I swing by.

Why do I feel
so alone again?
Why am I so in the grip
of this irrelevant bullshit,
always calling
my own clarity into question
in the midst of this,
my mind plagued
with concerns simply
out of my hands,
so beyond my reach.

Their feelings
are just puppet strings
for me, then in comes the storm
and I’m like a rag doll
in a mad dance, convulsing
in the rain and wind,
lost in that ghastly fucking
darkness yet again.

Aching for apathy,
itching for escape,
locked in the world’s prison
yet in a cell it seems
I’ve made myself.

If I don’t manage
to pick the lock soon,
I’ll blast it all away.
These strings will break
or they will all just drag me down.

There’s nothing left
here anyway
and I’ve grown so tired
of struggling in vain.

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