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A psychosomatic helminth resides in me, teething through synaptic seams. It burrows quietly between the fragile scaffolds of my dreams. I wake with a siren stitched into my marrow, red light flowering behind the eyes. No enemy— just blood boiled by quiet plights. Adrenal glands tire of counterfeit panic, cortisol scripts threats in cursive ink. My pulse stays armed, finger firm— hovering at the brink. Desire arrives pre-embalmed, half-dead on display. Dopamine knocks once— polite, rehearsed— then evaporates away. The maw of need never lost its taste— it mastered abstinence and delay. A suffocating indifference blooms and tightens every fucking day. MY NERVOUS SYSTEM EXALTS COLLAPSE NO BREATH LEFT TO BARGAIN PERSERVERANCE I'M DIVIDED— A DOUBLE AGENT AT GUN-POINT IN A FEUD BETWEEN HOPE AND DOUBT. EACH FIRE FIGHT SEARS A DEAD SUN BEHIND MY EYES WHERE ULTRAVIOLET KNIVES CARVE THROUGHOUT AND I’M LEFT TO CHOOSE WHICH GRAVE FEELS MORE LIKE HOME There’s a thing inside me that learned my tempo, memorized breath and name. Not a demon— just a parasite with manners wrapped in shame. It thrives on excess, revels in indulgence, turns pleasure into ash. A hedonist’s liver— scarred, enlarged— distilling too much past. Serotonin sleeps behind glass and dust, labeled “balance,” archived. Glutamate sparks small brushfires through memories still alive. Work the wound. Rest the shell. Feed the host. Prime the cell. Let it fester. Let it dwell. Love may arrive like absolution. Or never breach the shore. Both feel equally probable when faith erodes to neural war. MY NERVOUS SYSTEM EXALTS COLLAPSE NO BREATH LEFT TO BARGAIN PERSERVERANCE NO TONGUE TO SCOLD THE ODDS I’M NOT BROKEN — I’M BEING UNWOUND BY A PARASITE THAT WILL NOT RELEASE ALIVE. AWARE. YET UNMOVED. SUSPENDED BETWEEN WHAT I COULD BE AND WHAT I’VE PROVED. I exist— a verdict sealed and signed. A host still breathing while something else keeps time. Not waiting for answers. Just asking— Where does fate take me, and how much of me is left to unwind?