The week is freeing.
All pleasure is fondling my being.
My senses are occupied.
But forget that, cos I lied.
I lie to myself.
I now see my health.
Because now we're back.
Sunday.
This empty day, my mind howls away.
No blanket of soothing ignorance.
No lens of a hopeful sickness.
Right now there is me.
Only me.
How I convulse and clench my teeth
in my selfhatred
empty pit of me.
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 10:35 AM UTC
The week is freeing.
All pleasure is fondling my being.
My senses are occupied.
But forget that, cos I lied.
I lie to myself.
I now see my health.
Because now we're back.
Sunday.
This empty day, my mind howls away.
No blanket of soothing ignorance.
No lens of a hopeful sickness.
Right now there is me.
Only me.
How I convulse and clench my teeth
in my selfhatred
empty pit of me.
The compact Sunday Depression of Selfhatred
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