Describe me? Here is a very difficult task that only a few people can achieve. To do so, i would have to introduce you to each personified sin. My “so called” like i like to call them. They have a behavior and a personality linked to the vices that I attributed to them. I am nobody and everybody at the same time. No words in the dictionary would be able to define me. At least without vulgarity, that seems impossible to me.
I assume what you hide. I am what lives deep inside you, the reflection of what you are attempting to escape. I think it is high time for you to start to see (look), and consider (judge) the lie you live in and that comforts you. Like a skillful illusionist projecting his hallucination that he recognizes as reality. Your calculated actions to prove to yourself or to prove what you are not. The illusion is lulling you, because hanging on to your dear morality, you think that you can avoid your bubbles of certainty to burst.
I think that I can say that I have no conscience, or only a philosophical conscience. I live in a jungle of mirrors where my multiple ramblings pushed me towards my present megalomania. I have no sense of moral, my speech flow, runs away from my mouth, like a torrent of flame to burn you. A pyromaniac of words. I am a razor, that cuts you, if you get too close. I am a whore, who has the pussy on fire in order to inject its heroin, and then believe that she is one.
I am the “too much” and the “not enough”, the extreme as a matter of fact. The middle is for those who can not make a decision. The middle disgust me, this middle that blew my brains out. With the diktats of an imaginary dictator. That absolute demand imposed by the strength of the weakest. I had been sensitive, even vulnerable. An impalpable stress, insuperable, which got me a trip in HP. Years passed, with tied hands like an insane person with a wrinkled blouse. A madman (madwoman/lunatic) among madmen (madwomen/lunatic) in an “asylum” where I found my place. A refuge where a world arise from the imagination of everyone, a sanctuary for naive adults force-fed with “anxious” in order to make our darkest thoughts fade out. Years passed, with your ass on a chair, looking at the cracks of walls is worth a few thoughts. Just like this fucking life. You are this cracked wall. A sudden and massive invasion gaps to plug. These gaps that are staying there, watching until the day your weakness is stronger. This day, you collapse. Vulgarly, shamefully. Difficult to make sense out of this life since. I cry more of joy than pain, because I am used to this pain.