doctor... doctor... i think there's something wrong with me...
my heart feels so heavy, i think it’s going to fall to the ground any time now.
can you take it out and see what’s wrong with it?
can you please peel it open and find the hole that’s been making me feel shallow?
stuff it with dirt or sew it terribly — anything, just to stop it from bleeding blood and void.
doctor, my skin feels weird. i don’t like it anymore.
i feel thousands of cuts and bruises all over me, but i can’t see them.
some people have been punching me hard and cutting me with the tiniest blades from their mouths.
i’ve been patching myself with cloth from my own worn-out clothes,
but i don’t know how long this method will work.
i feel like my skin is about to rip apart completely, like a net meant to catch fish for hungry fishermen.
doctor, my muscles ache so much.
i think my bones will fall apart too, full of mold and dust.
so worn out, never taken care of.
can you please check if they’re still usable?
i’ve been working myself tirelessly and forgot they were still there.
and my brain — god, my mind, it’s so messed up.
a mess.
when i opened my skull last time, screws and springs flew out
some disassembled, barely working.
what happened?
i don’t even know anymore.
was it too much thinking? too many plans?
too many emotions?
too much... too much... too much...
doctor? they said you’re the greatest healer.
can you do something about this?
can you do something about me?
doctor?... doctor?... aren’t you God?