Denial was just one of the five distinct stages of grief that i was going to witness; but denial goes hand in hand with anger. The trick here was that nature never played fair with me, i always seem to pull the shorter end of the stick. i always got the worst of it... ALWAYS!
I became angry, so angry that i saw no happiness, no peace, no beauty in anything. I only saw RED; in me and in others. The anger that built up in me was so powerful that i became immune to anything even remotely peaceful, rational and relaxing. i would get so mad that rationality eluded me and beauty repulsed me.
I would carve my own skin to see the red flow so smoothly out of my body,down my skin. i would carve from the top, i would carve from the bottom and i would sit and watch my own blood drip a single drop after drop on the shinning white floor. As days went by, i got addicted to this sweet pain to such lengths that the red would serve as a symphony to my pain. My eyes would drip water faster than my skin would drip the hot blood yet somehow my lips would manage to stretch in manner so sinful that you would have thought me mad. well because only a mad person would smile while enduring the pain of an angry wound.
Days even weeks passed by and i wouldn't feel better so i said to me self "what am i gaining from this?". To my shock and horror, i had no justification of the acts that i had committed. Feeling very confused and ashamed, i realized that i had been acting, how elders would put it, insanely.
"why shed blood in the name of the man who rejected me, rejected my love? why go through such acute discomfort for he who is selfish and a liar?", i said to myself, trying to revive some dignity left in me.
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