Toxic

A man stares as his keyboard mournfully, fresh marks on his arm, knife ready to be cleaned of human blood

First and last time he tries that one, and not because of the obviously hideous ramifications of such self destructive will against the poison flesh holding him to a thankless mortality, but the hideously obvious ramifications of having to pretend it was an accident!

“I scratched my arm on a fence” hoping they don’t notice the military uniformity of the cuts

“It was an accident in the kitchen” belying the idiot proof logicality that there are three ‘accidents’ in the same place

“I was rescuing animals for a local wildlife charity and one of the animals scratched me” what, you were saving a fucking timber wolf in the English countryside!!

“I cut myself to see if I could feel pain” with a few pinches of sarcastic whim and a few more for effect, truth where truth lies best to fool the world; in farce!!!

 Water; looks like vodka, lets him play the optimist and blissfully drift afar into the somewhat hazy arena of alcoholism, he wishes

Clean Flat; nothing else to spend the lonely hours doing but clean, if you need a fancily worded explanation for that one I refer you to the children’s section of the library!

Life is too toxic, death is too final

How would sir like to feel fucked over today?

And for real hurting, may I recommend love!

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