blood boil

Right now writing with
A stinging throat
Tensed short breaths
Heart ladened painfully with antipathy, torment and rage.
Eyes almost tearing and
My torso hurts.

I fall into this shrivelled curling gaunt mass of wretchedness.

The fragility of my world’s balance
Is tipped violently by my selfishness everyday.
My mirror reflects someone very repulsive
I would never want to witness myself
As I always saw myself exceptional.
I would replay nightmares over and over.
Then heave into another stratosphere of blankness-nothing.
Soon I ascend back to the morose reality and noting my patheticness
I would seemingly on cue, fall back into forlorn desolation like a fallen conqueror.
My self abhorrence would then peak.
I would critic myself unbearably
Reproaching me of things I really did
And then I would flounder in a sinister display of pain, suffering and misunderstanding
The need to die and let go
Inside my thawed spirit is obligatory
I think I called out to Jesus
But heard only echoes.
Sometimes I hear voices of benevolence
But they saunter away whispering. Judging.

I stand at the periphery of the balcony
In an empty room
Lamenting to thyself
F earning
U orbidding
C ickening
K ying.