I was standing in a puddle of myself and I was constantly refilling myself with myself. Rarely premium myself with more Octane. I never knocked myself so much. I was even accused of overhyping myself; exaggerating a lot of fake news about myself and making myself look like somebody else. But, then, I started feeling bad about myself and stopped caring about who I really was. I got lost in the fantasy of being this other person. I could get away with anything as long as no one knew the real me. I could even get away with murder if only I wasn't such a pacifist. But when I lived in another person I could be anything. A warlord. A prophet. A milquetoast. A queen. Anything, as long as it wasn't the real me. I started getting mad at myself for being a pacifist and began repeatedly punching myself in the face, Fight Club style. It felt so good, yet so wrong. my teeth cracked beneath my fist. I began digging in my mouth to pull out the bits of broken teeth. It should have hurt like hell, but I was so jacked up on meth I didn't even notice. I found a ball of foil in the corner of the room, the one my cat had been playing with all day. I placed the foil ball in my wounded gums for no other reason than to plug the bloody gaping holes. When my gums were healed, I gave the foil ball to my cat to play. "Why would you give me this?" she asked. "Do you really think I'm dumb enough to play with your bloody balls?" The cat went under my bed and brought out a rarely seen black and white mouse, with a bell. We played with that all night since I couldn't get to sleep. Right at the break of dawn, the mouse bit me. Turns out it wasn't a toy, just stunned. I felt a wave of guilt, as well as a wave of whatever disease the mouse was carrying.



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