Date: 2024-02-18 11:05 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
He knows he cannot trust himself.

He knows that for every time he tells himself that this is his epiphany -- that the true and the beautiful have won him over to do no harm -- there will be times of backsliding. And only one base semi-hemi-demi-urge needs to fully break through for the worst outcome to happen.

He cannot leave himself to his own devices.

He cannot leave himself at all.

Too many swings. Too many him. He can no longer tell which states of him are fighting on which side. Every state of him is pain, the feeling and the inflicting. The important thing is that all of him are occupied, no idle hands free.

When his hands can't swing, when he must rest, the whiskey dulls the sting. Except it also accentuates it. Time is bought as time is wasted, but all it takes is one slip. He mustn't stay still, because he won't stay still.

Still, the pub reminds him that there are people. There at not-hims who see his gestures and hand him the glasses. There are not-hims, so the worst outcome must not come.

No matter how good it would feel.
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