Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“How about facing it all despite having a
rather strong urge to quit, to smell dust despite being run over by storms. Slowly
one becomes addictive, no? Once you start being run over, knocked down, you
feel the pain, you lick your wounds with sort of addiction, not to fill them up
and heal but to taste the blood and watch your flesh and bone-bare; oh the idea
excites, to watch your bare bones, white and red, damn! I wonder what is it all
about, may be one feeling similar would understand, if not who cares, after-all
there’s so much happening around, one does not understand yet goes on with it,
so will they with this.
There’s certain lust over holding your
scars, touching it, feeling the pain, imagining when it was still open and
bleeding, and that pain, oh! One touches it again and again in sort of trance
to remember it all, and before anything comes back, what trauma runs over mind
is, it is healed now. One could not smell the blood through them again, until one
takes out the knife and cut it open back again, just in search of that ages old
feeling of pain, expecting it to lie still beneath those scars (what pity it
would be, if one doesn’t find them down there…oh!)
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