Contamination

I don't know how to describe this feeling. It's this weird, almost manic energy except it feels unnatural, unclean. It radiates from my chest somehow, through my arms and legs and face, writhing under my skin with nervous tension, a kind of melancholy anxiety, making me want to move yet corroding my motivation to wright or draw or even get up and eat. So instead I just sit in my chair staring at the screen, paralyzed as time slips by.

Fuck. Go away damnit, I don't want you.

Go away.

-Rage, June 29 2009 C.E.