I have tendrils.

It's choking on people that I love. Choking would be inappropriate to describe it but I think that's the closest to the reality of it. But on the contrary of it hurting people that I love, I felt the asphyxiation more than they do.

I feel...misplaced.

I'm basically dying out of these varied feelings in my chest, in my throat, in my stomach. I want to hurl but I can't, nothing came out of it. But constantly, all the time, I had to put up with it. Bile is building up in my stomach. I'm sick of it, I want to vomit it all out. What's the use, though? No use.

A single act of silence. You know how it feels like? Knives, goddamn it. Knives being slowly pushed through my skin. My thighs. My feet. My tongue. Sadistic happiness out of it is now questionable and I am considering that to be one of the major problems, but it fucking hurts all the same. I'm not butter. Certainly not a place to sheath multiple blades in.

It's hard to tell what's wrong. There's only deafening silence. It's...nothing in particular. Just tired.

Well I'm tired of getting sharp things stuck on me too. I'd like to think that there's no way this could be justifiable unless both parties are willing to give up their shit and start to understand each other better by talking about it.