Grip

I was in the shower; soaping myself up. I’d finished, and was putting the bar of soap back in its container. This made me laugh. The shape of the soap – rectangular with rounded corners – in the soap holder – rectangular with rounded corners. The insanity of everything came into focus. That nothing fits together, that everything fits together. Maybe a sane thought sprung to mind. If it did, I didn’t notice at the time. But oh my, I laughed.

And then I cried. And fuck me did I cry. So deep. I thought, until I was cold and the pain came, about the word deep. So often are there no words to describe how I feel. There’s something nice about that. I can’t be bound by language! I’m a complex human fucking being! But no. Today, ‘deep’ did it for me. Deep was the sorrow that I felt. Deep was the joy, at nothing. That depth of sorrow and joy, it’s uncomfortable; it’s not right. Not at the same time. Not today.

I have no right to be this happy, crying on the floor in my bathroom. The blood tastes nice and I know this is wrong. I shouldn’t like this. But fuck it’s good. I love it. My skin is tingling at the thought of it.

I bit harder to see if I could. Something cracked. It’s nice, the pain. I lift it up and let my head drop to the tiles. The world stutters, like it isn’t sure. It’s nice.

I don’t know, I can’t articulate … the lack of connection to it all. Is that what I mean? The thought that I’m so different to the rest of you that I can’t possibly matter. This thought seemed magical.

I know, these words don’t work. But it was magical.

I can taste metal. Like a watch. I can taste time, I remember thinking. Then I don’t remember for a while.

I’m shivering, it’s broad daylight, the pain isn’t good any more.

I stand up and it’s the worst moment of my life. I won’t even try to make it words.

The soap in the dish. So without meaning. The fact that the soap is a rectangle with rounded corners, the soap dish is a rectangle with rounded corners, and the fact that I exist.

That you exist.

It all seems like there’s some connection. That there’s some reason. But there isn’t. It’s all just a mistake, we’re all a mistake. A star exploded and we met; any meaning is imagined.

The soap dish doesn’t need the soap, and this world doesn’t need me.

You don’t need me.

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