I can stave off the dread as long as I’m distracted. As long as I busy myself with the absurdity of this world and indulge in my perversity and addiction, there’s a chance I can slip right past the hard part. The heavy duty baggage, the indestructible pile of trash I’ve let sit and stew under my bed for the past decade. Burning it just makes it stink more. It ignites and remains unscathed, but the fire spreads. The mattress becomes potent vapor, I forget the shame embedded within until it’s too late, I’ve been reminded. The security of my bedroom walls melt away along with everything else, and all I’m left with is the garbage, and the smells. The body bag. Bones should burn, but these ones in particular have stayed in immaculate condition. Something tells me my procrastination is about to catch up with me. I don’t think I can weasel my way out of this one, I have to sift through the shit. I have to unload it and dispose of the contents, one by one. I’ve been avoiding it for as long as I can remember. Shadowed silhouettes bearing fangs and knives from the other side of the train window, as it rolls along on a steady path towards, well, nowhere in particular. The tension has been built, the enemies are circling, I think the conductor finally has a coherent map. All that’s left is to slay the unnamed, the armed figures that haunt my peripherals when it starts getting all too much. Put it to rest. Clean out my room. It seems so simple when I lay it out on the table like that, like it won’t be as painful as I know it will. I’m still hesitant. I’m still scared. I want to put it off a little longer. I’m trying to change, but it's hard. I’ve only so recently understood the power I actually have. The issue is finding the energy to exert it. Finish me.