The Provocation

The irritation overwhelms my nerves at times so greatly, that I cannot move. A fire spreads its feathery hot spikes through my veins, turning my blood into red molten lava as it spurts out of my pores. There is days of this torture with no relief. Red blood turns black as it cools in my veins, leaving my frame a skeleton of dark crust. An inexplicable calm wave sometimes follows these angry combustions, which I welcome but don’t trust. I know, looming underneath my translucent flesh, there are countless receptors waiting to be provoked by this consuming force of pain and hopelessness. I just have to wait for relief.

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