I don't know how many of you are women. Then again, is there even anybody reading, except for a proofreading me.
This month's expulsion of unwanted tissue comes with an extreme emotional weight that, as my walls waste away in preparation for their exit, swells by each passing night until my flesh and blood is replaced by its body of dark gelatin.
Perhaps, in the last 30 days, I've exposed my vulnerability far past its limit, my limit.
When an empty vessel accepts the flowing atmosphere of postivity into its vacuum, sealing every crack with promising optimism, the substance of its natural creation will react to this foreign invasion of a pleasant nature and eventually neutralise its perceived intentions. The clay that I am molded from is an active antibody against happiness. Do you know the metaphysical properties of dead happiness?
On a summer night I sit with my back against the door of a suburban complex outside München listening to Arctic Monkeys. Helplessly, I let my cells be replaced, taken over by the active seeds of a parasitic negativity. As it weakens my heart, every numbing thump is a false dream of anticipating the very last heartbeat and waking up from this life.
Even a chameleon is a colour of its own, despite its ability to adapt.
The comfort of an overpriced bowl of Bingsu is craved near midnight, in a foreign country of fried meat, potato, and fermented cereal grains.
Closing my eyes, I wish the loneliness would ignore me, as I ignore it.
Being spontaneous in ways that are morally discouraged, I fear that my death would come just as well. One day when the wind is blowing, I might look out the window and wonder how it is like to dive, into nothing.
Why do I not believe in the argument that a youthful death is a wasted life? Aren't I wasting life, more of it, by staying alive? You know, I want to cry, and call my parents, and ask them why I need to stay alive, but I'm scared that they'll be sad. In this sense, I'm totally alone. I don't want them to feel more burdened than they already do. But I have no choice. I'm not fine.