Nada que decir. Nada que hacer. Time spent on me is wasted. As wasted is my breath. Just a piece of meat. Moving senselessly. Nothing to prove. To anyone.
Wounds that do not heal. Open sores. Exposed flesh. Thorns under the skin. Rotting flesh. And it hurts. The mildest wind is a reminder of these wounds. These bleeding wounds that leave a trail along the various paths I take.
Take one pill. Then another. And another. As many as one has to take. A rainbow of remedies. Useless remedies. It might be that the entire bottle is necessary. But it only numbs one's limbs. Head feels heavy. Sense has abandoned one forever. It will never come back. It is all burning. Body is filled with poison. Regrets have been enclosed. Forehead trembles. It is possible to feel one's heartbeat when touching one's nose. More pills. Another drink. Cured this pain is definitely not.
