I stand over Myself. Power drill in my right hand. Leeches in the other.
"Look. We both know that this isn't ideal. But I'm at the end of my tether, and you've had this long-coming". The words come out flatly. They fall straight down, as razors do.
The sitting Me nods. Hands on my cheeks. Staring at bare feet and plasma stains. I don't look up at myself. There's no need. "You're right, of course. Do it"
The drill whispers sweet nothings to my occipital plate. The pressure is relieved octaves at a time.
I am granted paper-thin enlightenment that will last for precisely as long as I can concentrate.
6:56 p.m. - 2014-09-13
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