Catharsis

The sutures are aching and turn into a profane wound. Red is oozing from it as it slowly decays, but still has a long way to perish. The malady hasn’t cured. Tears are streaming down on my face as I try to numb the pain away. Through the thin walls the people might have mistaken my sorrow with a cry for help. Will they miss my presence when I’m gone? Or are they too caught up with their own fake lies misery?

It is a murky night and I pity my misfortune. Years of attempting to heal has turned in vain. This frail body has had enough. The hell would never equate the small glimpse of heaven. Days of wishing for everything to stay this way has come to an end. No more dancing with empty hopes and phony words. Enough, I said, enough.

My eyes are weeping but it doesn’t resemble what is happening inside me. A spark of joy is there. A flame I thought was gone but never really goes out. I spring into the devouring gallop, not caring the blood trails behind me or the door that hasn’t been shut. This is not a home. It never is.