November 4th, Year of the Corpse

The tools and equipment used to destroy, are the same that are needed to rebuild. It is impossible to resist the urge to cause a collapse. The fire will burn away all injury. It will frighten away any that intend to push their fingers into the wound, into the bone.
It takes a god to rebuild, and didn’t I already establish that I am small. So small.

My mother’s medical tests have shown that there are tumors in her colon. A biopsy is required to determine whether they are benign, or whether she has a battle ahead of her.

My sister’s marriage is disintegrating. While she has not been married long, her husband has already established himself as a ruinous villain. Infidelity, abuse, and lies plague their union. Her husband is incapable of showing loyalty and kindness. My sister is incapable of self-assertion.

Ill with a need to express an affection I still feel for my sister and mother, to provide them with an emotional support they are desperately seeking, but with a stubborn pride that prevents me from moving in a direction it fears will lead to hurt, I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. My heart decided to flutter like a panic-stricken butterfly, growing faint until it was almost undetectable. It was there that I realized that I have spent my life in a hospital, or in need of one.

Joseph comforted me, after I was released from the emergency room. He kissed me so sweetly. I believe almost as sweetly as he kissed another girl later that evening, in front of my home.

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November 4th, Year of the Corpse

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