I'll Be Seeing You In Hell

Unfortunately we weren't born into a world of iron stomachs. We were born into a world of self mutilation, of beauty, and of the grotesque. A world in which all paths lead to hell. There's no escape, so I don't know why we bother trying. Either way I'm going to meet you there, even though I cannot bear the thought that I shall have to see you again. Even now, a glimpse of your face, a whiff of your ghost, and I spend days in uneasiness. Why does our world make it so hard to leave people behind?

It can hardly be called living if you have to pull yourself through the day, despite the pit that has formed in your navel, through which every last glimmer of happiness falls and is obliterated. You cannot proceed when with every step nausea washes over you in waves that drown, and you double over, clutching your stomach, muscles taut and breaths coming out in dry retches. That is truly the averse reaction you have on me. Then it's impossible to hold onto a sense of calm.

But I'll be seeing you again, unfortunately; remember it. I'll be seeing you in hell. And that shall be infinitely worse than what we suffer here.