Pains come from all sides. All this left is to write.
Whenever I sit down to write something, I hear shrill voices at the highest pitch and volume piercing my ears first accusing someone of not being good enough and then, inevitably, that blame getting transferred to me. The original target is soon lost and the eternal one is raised to be shot dead with a booming bomb of incendiary fire that her sound energy converts into. The voice loudens, thickens and cuts me into several pieces that tremble as they shattered fall and fidget till the life in them is gone and everything seems numb. I listen silently, the pressure of my blood rising, then comes a time when I cannot help yelling out myself, forgetting who I am in the volume of my voice. Our mouths resonate with thunderous volleys of sounds that are meant to be words. Our bodies move towards an action that will end everything and make all creation into a meaningless lump of nothing. This world is nothing and this realization dawns upon us each day if not every other day. There is a perpetual dying and then surviving yet again. The only thing that remains eventually is pain of the soul for it is there that it makes its greatest impact.
People ask why we cannot end all this and run away from each other into zones of peace. There is no answer to this but that so many years of partnership will be broken only with the damaging of souls. We have worked ourselves into a madness which we cannot now unmadden without our universes shivering into brokenness. After so many burns of deep cutting pain where does one go for a soothing balm to heal the harm that we are eternally tied to?