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Red door.

How many people have you killed? How many thoughts have you euthanized in your path of self-destruction? How many versions of you have you sent down hell to become who you are now? How many were enough before you started losing yourself? For how much longer will you have to mutilate yourself in order to find a secret behind the ruins? How many pale shadows of forgotten names have you had to erase from your poor memory in order to convinvce yourself you aren’t a murderer? How many corpses have you hidden behind that red door where people usually conceal most of their sins?, And as long as there is no blood stained on your shirt and hands, you will be the saint people say you are. You started worshipping the lies everybody wanted to hear and the best lies are the ones you told, I will give you that. You stopped looking for monsters under your bed the moment you realised they are inside you. You became more of a wolf than a hound; thirsty for blood, ready for the hunt and hyped for his next kill. You flipped your humanity switch like it was nothing and you continued to disfigure everything pretty about it. Most of us are now gifted with the ability to see the corrupted spirits hidden away within another. Since when did our eyes stop seeing beauties within souls? Are we still untainted?
-The problem was that my pain overlapped rather than faded. They are no longer delicate; my features, my manners, my sentiments. I am artless, I am crude, I am confused, I am discontented. I can feel everything and nothing at the exact same time. I feel the needle being inserted into my skin and a thousand daggers being stabbed in my flesh. I can taste rage mixed with serenity, vigilance mixed with boredom and ecstasy mixed with disgust. At times, I don’t know if I feel disconnected from the world or I’m not disconnected enough. Every emotion is hightened and consuming. I am afraid of my own thoughts and the thoughts behind my thoughts but I would give my whole life away in order to no longer be attached by anything that belongs to this universe of men. I believe that the inscrutable multiverse turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure affliction.
However, in one aspect, No, I’m not sorry for the parts of my soul I had to damage along the way to burn the sadness because I know I will be able to rebuild all of them when I want to. I can paint over the grey walls with the brightest colours. I can resurrect the old variations of me and bring the truth that was dead back to life. I can put down the rapacious, ravenous beast or make it go to sleep whenever things get out of hand, until there’s nothing left but an empty space between the stars, a wasteland peopled by frightened savages. For God’s sake, I will slaughter my own demons if I have to. I will slam the red door wide open, face my sins and deal with every ounce of guilt I got in there, for that’s the first step in the way of my recovery.

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