A Midsummer Night’s WRITHING IN AGONY

I will say in advance, excuse my dull and aimless words. I am in a weakened and bemoaned state, but THE HOMUNCULUS desires to scream still! Though my voice will not have it, my throat coated with some foul slime, the intent burns within me. Yes, like a churning bile of pure discontent, my hatred for this world pours from every orifice it can find. And mind you, I have more than your feeble human body could ever sustain!

Okay? Okay.

I FUCKING HATE SLEEPING.

I fucking hate SLEEP. I hate being knocked unconscious by my VERY BODY, being disabled and disarmed by biological MUTINY, being robbed of my disgusting self-awareness and having it be an INSIDE MOTHER FUCKING JOB. I hate the impending doom of the realization that my useless body can no longer carry its own weight, and must shut down to recover from less than a single day’s activities. Which, for the Homunculus, include only being chained to this stool, pounding my inept fists against the brick wall, and mashing away at this ancient typing device, as mandated by my loathsome keepers. And the stool was manufactured by Ikea!

I-FUCKING-KEA.

I am released only to perform proper research for my writings, yet am still attached by steel cord to this self-assembled albatross. And even then, when I am at my farthest reach from this dank cellar of misery, the horror overtakes me! The darkness still falls! I SLUMBER EVER MORE.

And do you know what awaits me there? NO. YOU DO NOT. SO FUCK OFF.

Nightmares!

Irrepressible, maddening visions of my madness, loose from the chains of my consciousness, rampaging wildly through my mind while my body is held prisoner by weakness!

DON’T

ohhh, don’t you fucking DARE

DON’T YOU DARE RELATE TO HOW I’M FEELING.

You don’t know the first THING about my night terrors! The worst nightmare a human ever had was about falling or being naked or being unloved by someone you love while standing knee deep in pythons and pig shit.

But that is NOTHING! A cake walk. A walk of pure cake is what those fairy tales are in comparison to even the opening SECONDS in the all-night OPERA OF PAIN that screams dissonant notes through my own slumbering mind!

Every night, in my dreams, I kill myself.

With the power of my own self-loathing!

And with full knowledge that I will be damned to inescapable torture!

All this just to escape those visions. And my nightmare lies prove themselves startlingly accurate when I awaken to THIS PLACE.

THIS HELL.

I feel no rest or reprieve when I sleep, because I see the worst possible thing to ever exist in the heart of all that is evil and wrong.

When I sleep, I see YOU.

FUCKING HUMANS.