Dear Contrast,

In an honest attempt to present the true nature of my illness, I will temporarily shelve my sarcastic, edging on inappropriate, comments, and if I dare, lift my hand and reach toward you, who just may be, in personality and thought , my closest kin within this world of masks and mirages called PC . But if even possible, this would require the longest “baby step”, that I have ever attempted.

Although I would never refer to the song that I placed within the thread as a favorite. There are special properties within, that when combined produce a temporary salve to lessen the constant sickness of which I have been inflicted since my first memories of life.

The lyrical and melodic siblings born of this song, pour themselves into my body with such honest, tenderness that I am overcome with a sensation that, while not exactly pleasant, does provide a short reprieve from my constant war against the rage with which I am possessed.

This gentle song, beautiful to me in its simplicity, rushes first within my chest, spreading a diluted ache which expands, then washes down to into my stomach where it rocks as constantly and quietly as night waves that stroke the cooling sands.

I will never escape my pain completely, for even as the music calls, the ache still exists within me. Yet the tone and hue of that pain is tempered, subtle when juxtaposed with the bloody, sharpened needles of the tempest that rages inside me, waiting to spring forward unexpectedly, and inflict as much damage and pain against myself and any who would stand in my way.

Oh Contrast!, provide me, I beg you, with another word for pain and rage. The descriptive use of each word has rooted itself in my psyche with such overwhelming power that their frequently of use has become a part of my identity, an endless mantra, to meditate upon that is ever repetitive, reminding me of my worthlessness and wickedness.

I cannot explain further. This is more than I have ever attempted to share, and I have never shared the ability of this musical talisman, inscribed with what as child, my mind begged to cry, but my steely, unwillingness to admit need, or comfort from any other person, would not allow me to say.

Please take care not to soil the confessions that have been set before you tonight. They are as fragile as pressed flowers, Disrobed, they are displayed before you in black and white. I’m praying that it is a confessional contrast that you will understand.

Entirely Exposed,

-Flee

Rather print hugs than use the button FB

Hugs

Originally Posted by quizzickle

Rather print hugs than use the button FB

Hugs

Thanks Q