numb, she thought. numb. as her lips burned with the intensity of a flamethrower. she enjoyed the way pounds fled her flesh. the way her eyes dilated. the way her cheeks grew pale at his slight mentioning. to be numb was cathartic. she savored the moments when she didn't feel, think, need, anything.
but what does one do? stand on the edge and release or wait at peaks never to peer beyond? she chose to fall. and fall she did, alongside the multitudes who savored the way wind rushed past their face, cool...numb. without the fall, there would be nothing. without the numbness there would no longer be joy. but she had begun to wonder if her cold heart and numb hands felt anything besides endless waves of pity.
she still wasn't sure who it was for: herself or others. the others who chose not to go down this path. they didn't know. how could they understand.
she was, by all means, perfection. the very definition of euphoria. it's strange how closely related apathy and euphoria can seem. for you can smile as widely in apathy, have all the same bland, blank facial expressions of one who is extremely happy.
it's easy to fake both.
oh how she fell admiring the ground's inevitable thump. how she enjoyed the plummet. the way her stomach screamed no, no, no, and she defied her body time and again.
to have control over oneself is the best kind of control. to scream no to your heart, your inner organs, your guts. to let them know who's in charge. you can choose the inevitible if you want to. your brain is the only thing that matters: it's what moves your feet, what clasps your hands, what brings the bottle to the lips, what fucks a stranger.
you can make that decision.
because it's yours.
and she did. and enjoyed every last drop of self-loathing destruction.
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