I wish I knew what to tell you. Sadly, in this moment the stories conflict and collide in my mind with a powerful malice that leaves me breathless and weak. I know my legs can hold the weight of my body, but I am certain that far more is being pulled down. Among the many things tied to my spine are my memories. Through them I could swim, but I would not leave their embrace unscathed. I still taste the blood that the wounds of my own nature have left in my mouth. Dripping I crawl against the parapet and shield my eyes from the bombarding rays of retrospection. With white knuckles I gnash my teeth in what looks from a distance like a smile, and sing an apologetic scream. When that cesspool gets spiced by the hopes and presuppositions of those that have carried the burden of loving me, then things start to become most unsettling. I do not for a moment doubt that those factors strengthen my deep relationship with violent poisons. If I am to lean against a sword, pointing towards my heart, I should at the very least sharpen it. Then, when I add the rumbling melodies of lost lover’s whispered assurances, a ball of razor blades feels the need to go exploring my chest. Weakly I struggle to submit to the unyielding voice that proclaims my deficiency. It cannot be correct about every incomplete aspect of my shell. If I had learnt to believe in the consistency of joy then I may not be standing at the gates with sharpened arms. But that is not who I am. In truth I simply hope I do not destroy you, for I have become rather good at it, in the way that can only be felt in retrospect.
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