From Addicted to Dying
22:32
I like to think that I am on some form of local anaesthesia; 2% Lidocaine injected in my soul because having to face the reality would kill me another round.
They say, when the anaesthesia kicks in, first is analgesia, then comes excitement and then the anaesthesic effect.
Here, I have been sitting in this wooden box waiting on the anaesthetic effect because of course at first I lost the feel of pain. Even now, I can't feel the pain when I swipe the blades across my skin; that usually spot for the POS, trading bodies for the cost of soul.
Oh well, I digress.
Blood did flow and you'd think that after losing half a liter I'd stop. Well, I quite did but I'd get a fresh transfusion, with a fresh dose of that injection, lose the pain, get high again, I'm stuck in my affliction.
Addition. Addition. Addiction.
Addicted to the pleasure from the activation of my opioid receptors. Receptive to that age old "pill" passed down from my ancestors.
Ancestry claims, blame it on Adam or maybe Eve.
Maybe Even blame it on Cain.
On the cane that mama whipped me with.
That cane brought forth similar pain.
Every lash was an independent slash in the same spot on my soul.
Oh, I digress again.
I put on my defence mechanisms, stimulate my sympathetic system.
Digressing is my preventing of the truth from seeping deep in.
Putting mud into my eyes, not for healing but for blindness.
Artificially creating cataract.
I died slowly, not because I didn't know I was sick.
I died slowly because I couldn't take my eyes off the stimulus.
I couldn't lift up my eyes to look on the stick.
I just couldn't trade the lido for the healing.
They say, when the anaesthesia kicks in, first is analgesia, then comes excitement and then the anaesthesic effect.
Here, I have been sitting in this wooden box waiting on the anaesthetic effect because of course at first I lost the feel of pain. Even now, I can't feel the pain when I swipe the blades across my skin; that usually spot for the POS, trading bodies for the cost of soul.
Oh well, I digress.
Blood did flow and you'd think that after losing half a liter I'd stop. Well, I quite did but I'd get a fresh transfusion, with a fresh dose of that injection, lose the pain, get high again, I'm stuck in my affliction.
Addition. Addition. Addiction.
Addicted to the pleasure from the activation of my opioid receptors. Receptive to that age old "pill" passed down from my ancestors.
Ancestry claims, blame it on Adam or maybe Eve.
Maybe Even blame it on Cain.
On the cane that mama whipped me with.
That cane brought forth similar pain.
Every lash was an independent slash in the same spot on my soul.
Oh, I digress again.
I put on my defence mechanisms, stimulate my sympathetic system.
Digressing is my preventing of the truth from seeping deep in.
Putting mud into my eyes, not for healing but for blindness.
Artificially creating cataract.
I died slowly, not because I didn't know I was sick.
I died slowly because I couldn't take my eyes off the stimulus.
I couldn't lift up my eyes to look on the stick.
I just couldn't trade the lido for the healing.
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