ragged

Guts are a bubbling cauldron.  Not even the wickedest, most malignant witchcraft nor wizardry could have cast such an evil spell.  Nails pierce into the inner depths of the cranium while cerebral liquids shoot and swim, choosing their own course and threatening to collide in an abhorrent aneurysm.  In this state can the heart continue to beat?  The tightness of the chest stretched more than the tightest rope is the source of an unbearable anxiety and then the brain chimes in to couple it with a deep, intense and immense regret.  Sleep not permitted.  Shower, unable.  Hair of the dog crosses the warped mind but it is too soon.  Relief now would only mean further punishment.  It must be endured if it can be.  Can it?  Mortality enters the mind.  Death seems like the only solution.  The mind flirts with nihilism.  Finally the endless spitting and watering eyes perched over the receptacle of human piss and shit is rewarded.  Vomitus streams out amidst gasping breaths, tinged with evidence of the cause;  streaked red.  The system has rejected the self-imposed punishment and desperately endeavours to purge itself of harm.  Relief is minimal.  This is the end.  Is this the end?