(?)

He didn't approve of her snarky remarks. Who was she? Why did her opinion matter more than his? It filled him with disgust. To the brim. To the point where his body started resisting and twitching, nudging him away from invasive and obsessive thoughts. The cringe changed him like the moon does a werewolf. All in a matter of milliseconds. The process manifested itself as an emotional reaction. An amalgamation of bitterness, hatred, love, and disgust. He likened himself to famously bad people. The aim shifted and in the end, he found himself staring down the barrel of his own gun. She was merely a vessel. A character in his story. Someone to project onto and then critique. Observing this process. Endlessly spiraling around in the paradoxical soup of overanalyzing everything. Always shifting the point of view. Being afraid of stupidity. He always wanted to see every possible outcome. Because when the time comes and his inevitable failure disables him, he can claim it as his fortune coming to fruition. oh he definitely knew that this was going to happen. He counted on it. He even greeted it with open arms. The black demon is his heroin problem. The black demon comforts him. Their relationship is overwhelmingly abusive, but in her arms, he rests. She has held him before. And in her arms, he slumbers for years. Too exhausted to get up. Too debilitated to brake it off. She had him right where she wanted him and she knew it. She had worked on it since they met and now she was finally able to treat him however she wanted. Brake him down and feed off him. Now he was acclimating to society. The child had finally died. The zombie within the husk. A place is full of them actually. Drowning in rediculous, meaningless, insignificant issues.