The Helpless Longing To Purge

[sickinside]

Keats was a delusional fool. Nothing, nothing can be so nauseatingly ugly as truth. Truth on display, truth reflecting back at you in the mirror, everywhere you turn, or clinging to the tips of your realities like pine sap, collecting the dust and dirt of your life, making everything rough and gritty and sticky to the touch

Comments

[anonymous]

niice.

[paper_tigers]

Truth--acrid, musty stench of knowing the limits of your strongest reach, your own bitter laughter at how pathetically short if falls from even your lowest expectations...I know what you mean by this and it scares me to see it in print for the first time. Laid bare and abandoned since Christmas, these words are powerful and frightening.