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I am full of the wreteched black bile of self loathing
It is... an emptiness that seems to grow every single day. It cowers away in fear. It is... of normal disposition undulated by the positivity of my laughter. It is... like a fetus trying to break free from the restrains of what used to keep it alive. It is... like a predator discarding its carcass after a full meal. It is... my good thoughts, my better thoughts, my sanity. It is... beauty in this distress, not unlike how there is always beauty in death, in burial. It is... beauty in this course of putrefaction because there is weightlessness in being empty. It is... an anger that dissolves within and sadness that evaporates. It is... a whole life seeking and hating, because it can no longer manifest within. because it is.