Hurt My Feelings

I was sick of it. Sick of the emotions. Of everything building up inside me.

I pulled out my sadness. The one that never left, that hung over like a cloud, limbs drooping and a sorrowful face. I ripped it down to the ground and punched in its face as it shrieked.

I could feel the sudden clearness in my head. It was wonderful. I needed more.

I pulled out my envy. The one that me jealous of what my friends and family had that I didn’t, with long fingers and bulging eyes. I ground its head into the floor.

The burden on my back seemed to get lighter.

I pulled out my anger. The one that made me lash out at the ones I loved, with the burning body and the cruel mouth. I methodically ripped off its arms.

My mind cleared. I laughed. It was gone. Everything was gone…

Except.

I pulled out my joy. The one that made me laugh, smile, but left me feeling even worse when it was gone, with the shining skin and the fleeting, melodious voice.

I stabbed it. Stabbed endlessly until it was nothing but a horrid, gory pile, like the rest.

And then… clarity. I felt nothing. Nothing at all. It was beautiful.

I fell onto my knees and laid over as the world grew dim around me.

“I am nothing.”

Darkness.