freaking bugs

i felt it as it creeped into my vulnerable body, slowly taking over, not quite subtle enough to take me by surprise; though i suspect that was never its intention. no, it knew what it wanted from the very start and has produced in me a type of inconsolable desperation, knowing that for the time being it has grasped my full attention and that my attempts to resist are futile.
my throat is being scratched by cold shards of glass with every breath, and my lungs no longer own their usual freedom, constrained by the empty threat of further consequences--but they cannot, or perhaps just refuse, to let go of their stubborn convictions. blindness seems a better description for their lot. my muscles have been duped into thinking they need more and more rest...refusing to grasp the fact that they haven't made any strenuous movement for hours and possibly days. my nose would cry if it could, being stretched beyond its capacity by more and more seemingly unnecessary pressure. my ears do cry: one steady pitch of agony that makes it out of its canal disguised as a dull roar.
in one respect my mind has become an incredibly powerful traitor; allowing my body to believe the clever lie. on the other, she may be more like a sort of mole: taking pleasure in each side's victory and defeat, and yet ultimately apathetic. in this case, she has allowed the enemy to take joy in its illusion of mastery while secretly sending out the opposition. slowly they work, the opposition. painfully slowly, not possessing the ability to share in the torture but sent on a mission that happens to be best conquered at a small and steady pace.
soon these mind games will be over; the senses and emotions conjured up will have been tossed into the wind, only to be recalled for a minute at a time--not nearly as clearly as its present state. this is its chance. and it will be juiced for all it's worth.

aka, i'm sick and it sucks.

Love, krystal.