I wash my hands…
I’m scrubbing them down until the skin looks red…
Like I’m trying to get rid off a smell that nested into my pores … just like when you eat a smelly fish with your bare hands and no matter how much soap you use afterwards your hands still give off the scent of that particular fish you ate.
Some things leave their marks more prominently than others and some just leave disasters after them.
The smell in your hands that repels you now, was left of the food you once enjoyed so much that you emerged your fingers into it.
The plaque build-up in your arteries…was once the cholesterol from those meals you enjoyed with your beloved.
“How would you like your steak sir?”
“Bloody”, I say… although knowing that a steak can’t be bloody, because there is no blood left in it after the slaughter. The red liquid in your medium-rare steak is myoglobin, carrying oxygen into the muscles.
The waiter doesn’t know that, he just nods, and that’s okay… what matters is that my hands are clean and I’m about to enjoy a steak right before my disaster ends.
I ask myself, how many disasters can one endure; how many times can one become a disaster; how many marks and tracks can one wear on their skin and soul until it’s too much and what is too much and what happens after “too much”?
Do I need another disaster?
Some things leave their marks more prominently and some just leave disasters after them.
The disaster that we are now… was once the joy we needed so much…
So In front of everything I stand now, undecided…jump into another disaster or end all the others at once.
We love to live but hate to die, although it is the same thing, we don’t realise.
The death we fear, once was the life we loved so much.
The itchy red skin is the price I have to pay for those clean hands…
The restroom, now nasty, full of blood….once was so clean and satisfying.
Not anymore. Everything is different now.
Just like this knife that once cut my steak so I could enjoy it, found itself sticking out of my carotid arteries now.