You hate her,
but you love her too.

She is like fire.
You get too close—
and you get burned.
You stray too far—
you freeze and die.
And there is no light.

Like an ****** in your veins,
like five years on ****,
like smoking and drinking,
and being addicted
to a hundred different things—

You leave,
and you can't function.
You always come back.

And when the years are gone,
and you're tired
of getting cut and burned,
when you finally leave—
she will never really leave you.

They will be a part of you,
changed and scarred for life.

Like a ****** gone clean,
you can never fully
go back to normal.

Scars in your soul—
forever.

One day in the evening, as I sat reading a book by the light of a yellow lamp in my small, soft, cocoon-like room with white eggshell walls, I saw the most disgusting spider crawling in the corner of the wall. Its existence so offended me that I got off my bed. With great arthritic pain, I took the effort to **** it with a broomstick.
Later, as I pondered, a black thought came to me: What if I was the spider, and God was me? I killed it because it was ugly, with eight gossamer legs. God has known me truly, fully, and well.