Comfort in the never change
It isn’t anything new.
Chained to the cast mixture of clay and quartz, I writhe. I writhe before in my bed, unaware that the painful dream I have isn’t a dream at all. I watch the hand race across the clock.
No, I haven’t done this before. I haven’t done it, ever. It’s been done to me. I do not “overcome” these challenges. They rip through me like sharp waves, cursing my mind and my skin. The living skin raises itself in alarm.
Before long, autonomic processes begin. Pain response. Usually this leads to the vagus nerve becoming overstimulated. I spit out the circuitry’s parasympathetic wishes into a trash bin before they can protect my throat from what is expected to come next.
I gag, dry, painful, as expected. Sometimes I can avoid it, but I spent too much time thinking and not enough time doing.
i’m rightfully tired of it all.
