Scars

This is just some prose I wrote. I really actually relate to this.

We hunger for things. That is simply life. We hunger in different ways, for different things, but when a hunger is strong enough, there is no stopping it. We press it to us, the thing that will feed this hunger. Press it into ourselves so that it crushes us, and it hurts so bad that we stop feeling the pain. And it feels so good that we cant imagine anything being so wonderful. Press the feast into your skin. You press it into every pore. Fill everything in your body with so much that you cant even breathe anymore. You smother yourself. And when you have fed your hunger completely. You push it away from you, and breathe again. And try to forget that hunger, because you can no longer see why you were so hungry, or why you had to press it into yourself so hard. And you try to ignore the scars that are left from the feast. Because suddenly, they hurt so bad you cannot breathe again. So here’s what you do: you turn on the TV, and you watch some show that doesn’t make you feel anything. During the commercial break you go into the kitchen and rummage through everything in there, because it seems like something you should do during a commercial break. And when the show is over you clean up your room, and you make your bed, and you take a shower, and you brush your teeth, and you comb your hair, and you lie in bed. And then you see your reflection in the mirror across the room, and you smile into it. And you look deep into your fresh eyes, and you want to scream so bad that you are clenching your teeth. But you only smile into the mirror. Pretend that you are happy. Pretend that nothing has happened. That nothing went wrong. Because it wasn’t supposed to. And after a while nothing did go wrong. After a while, you cover up the scars with so much makeup, so much clothing, and take so many showers, that nothing went wrong after all. You can comfort yourself. There are no scars.