I am stuck in a rut. In a room. Trapped between one side of the bed and a table cluttered with dusty books and this crappy laptop. I want to get out, getaway. Far, far away. I can not live like this anymore. This comfort comes at the cost of my privacy, my peace, my place. I have no choice but to lock myself in this room, locking myself away from the very people whose presence scorches me. I do not want this. I want to move out of this hellish stomach that incinerates my freedom with its toxic acid. I just want to tear it open and spring out. I am losing every intangible part of me. I can feel myself dissolving. My dedication, my love, my books, my words, my mind, me. All fossilizing. The connection of blood has kept me tethered. Their blood filled my veins, tying me to this burning stomach. I want to rid (or, purge?) myself of their so-called ichor and be free.
"There is a freedom that comes with abandonment." Suzanne Scanlon.
Maybe detachment will be the key to this junky lock. Maybe severance is the only true salvation. I am desperate to alleviate myself by chopping off this relationship, even if it means bleeding. Desperate to get rid of this dependency. I know I will bleed when I part ways. If sacrificing my own blood is what is needed to gain survival, then so be it.
- Oizys.
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