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Feb 9
Sometimes I cry so terribly that I have to stop myself before I **** myself
Not intentionally
Just those moments when
I ebb into a saturation of grieving
I let myself
Unintentionally let myself
Until it’s difficult to draw breath because my throat is trying to follow my tears by retching itself from my chest
Always in front of a mirror
And while I watch my body tear itself apart I lock away the image and analyse the show
I’m at a theatre
And I’m performing
Practicing a part
And I start to write the script between my teeth before I have even acknowledged the grieving as my own for my mother
Who never reached forty
I create a story
And like any good book that grasps me in the depths of my empathy I can fall so willingly into its embrace but the moment I put it down I can accept that it’s reality is not my own
Just as I transform my gravity into stories that I can
Write down
To feel another day
To reminisce on the memory of pain
The fickle fluttering of apathy
Locked away in words
It’s my moment of artistic genius!
My muse!
My inspiration!
Please come bear witness to such a heartfelt sentiment
And let me pretend that it is not real
For as long as I can continue
Otherwise I don’t know if I can stop her from swallowing herself
The next time she cries
Anora Emporium
Written by
Anora Emporium  22/F/Australia
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