I can live through moments until a sour taste in my mouth reminds me that you are still alive. It's a condition you don't understand because time obviously delivered its promise in rewarding you with benefits. I don't know why I have been assigned this life or why you ever entered mine. All I know is entrapment. I thought my highs and lows were sufficient punishment for something unclear, but being inside a well is much worse. Is happiness a prize? Ideally, I would like a break from what seems like an interminably long period of mental deterioration. Your delight in the pleasures of vicarious pain is obvious. Everything hurts.
Yesterday, I fell asleep in the bathtub, for the second time. If anything is worth mentioning, I awoke with the fictious feeling of normalcy. That is, the short duration before a tidal wave of human longing returns me to low depths. My familiar depths. Usually, I lie awake for a long time, inspecting the ceiling for small openings or conflicting patterns. Anything to pass the time. More effective is the use of sleep to put away the self. I don't know where people find the facility to continue despite persisting ills. Maybe life is defined by the quantity of successfully replaced experiences. In my 20 years, the pathetic fallacy of inner peace is evident. A scarcity of air makes my skin turn blue.
I am a slave to you.
But I deserve another.
