A Freak’s Soliloquy


I can't even feel at this point.
I am immobilized. I am immortal.
Terror courses my veins and I am no longer quirky and full of fire.
What lays before you is a monster. A freak.
A leech on the very foundation of society.
I am vulnerable. I am alone.
The air becomes thick around me and I know what is coming.
The fog sweeps around my room until it has found me.
It is dense and heavy and I am no match for it.
It envelops my mind quickly, and I don't mind.
No, in fact, that is what I seek.
These incisions at my hip are for none less that the fog.
For, it is better to feel woozy, heavy, numb.
It is better to be buried under this so-called fog
Than to bear the burden of the world.
I am beaten. I am broken.
I was given a choice to be strong, but couldn't take it.
I was given the choice to be normal, but didn't have the strength.
I was given the choice.
And I choose to bleed.
I am empty.

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