There's rats feasting on my brain, eating away, driving me insane. The anesthetic of life means I can't feel a thing. Waiting emotionlessly for the resulting death this will bring because even if I could destroy them, their rotting corpses will be left behind and the maggots and disease will still warp my mind. I'll never get over this. I'll never truly be well, so why slow down the process? Just let them digest my cells. Reality's plague, rats live inside my skull. They'll eat and they'll eat but they'll never get full. Reality's plague, I can feel them against the bone reminding me that my thoughts aren't my own. Get out of my head. Medication.
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