Creeping in black stinking holes, crawling over my own corpse over and over again, it stinks and it’s ugly. I’m crying inside again and I want to shout to break to bomb. I want to vanish into a fantasy and forget my past, I want to be born again different, happy and lucky. I want to fix and I feel it’s impossible anymore, so much damage done so many stinking corpses, so many casualties and I’m still crawling, stinking, disgusting myself while rotting. I wanted to be saved but I doubt my ability to allow myself. The doors that were opened with light and love I slammed shut, possessed, excusing myself, feeling inevitable, helpless, guilty but right. I weep for the losses as the stench of my corpse grows stronger, sickening itself. I struggle still but fall in the same trap I set for myself, a marionette dancing itself in a pathetic choreography of self mutilation; a shameful loop of idiotic violence. Midlife crisis.