Outside's all shapes and noises. In here there's no exit...except I'm alone, which isn't hell. Naked too, Sartre-orially challenged. So there's that metaphor shot to hell.
Good day, worse yesterday. Used to be I'd wok my rage around, were I upset. Used to be-but even now when the urge rises and I'm inclined to cut into someone, I'm reminded how much of my own blood I left on the floor.
And I don't. Good for me.
Good for the rest of you as well, I assume.
I'll light myself up something fierce, though, and that's new. Never had a hole in my self-esteem before. I wonder if I'm using the right metric, or if like so much else, my proportions are wrong.
Good day, worse yesterday. Used to be I'd wok my rage around, were I upset. Used to be-but even now when the urge rises and I'm inclined to cut into someone, I'm reminded how much of my own blood I left on the floor.
And I don't. Good for me.
Good for the rest of you as well, I assume.
I'll light myself up something fierce, though, and that's new. Never had a hole in my self-esteem before. I wonder if I'm using the right metric, or if like so much else, my proportions are wrong.
