(simply involves the)
Physical
Sick and tired of the same old thing, the demons pressing
down on my head like so many fallen drops of rain that have coallesced to form my umbrella of agony. I strive, I work, struggling against the odds and the only reward I receive is the small words, the reassurances that somehow make me feel less loved. I don't want words anymore, the pitiful contrivances of a human mind, letters, merely symbols scrawled onto a piece of parchment created from the dead skin of a living being much older than we will
ever be, simply little black scratches that have no true meaning in the end. I need something beyond, maybe the touch of a hand against
my cheek or a special someone searching for my eyes and revelling in the discovery of them. It is therein that I know I will find my happiness. Happiness? Bones and muscle, grissle and trouble, the body gets in the way of my happiness. I see that now.
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