Self-care, or self-harm, or both — how do you drink the paradox cocktail?
Lock the door, draw a bath, light some candles, and listen.
Your windows are closed, but deep down you know they’re always open. The glass fogs with unseen breath. Let it fade and go.
Ask your significant other to critique your heart. Fall apart when the critique is of a blacker heart than yours. Learn the hard way that nothing stays sacred for long.
Juxtapose a dozen realities but stay loyal to only one. Allow yourself to be caught in the urban jaws of absurdity. Believe your veins are empty and flood them with light. If that light has an eldritch hitch to its gait, so be it.
Recognize that it’s the slit in her black dress that echoes loneliness. Recognize that it’s the blood smiling on your skin, not the blade.
Now pretend you’ve understood all of this.
Now blow out those candles, one by one, and drown.
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