SICK病んでる

i sincerely love this world. i love the people around me, every single person, because each of them plays a role in my life, whether it's a small one or a big one, whether it's a spot on a patterned wall or a shadow on the floor. i love the houses that stand tall, with their long, rectangular shapes made of dirt and concrete, and their various shells and colors. each of them is beautiful as long as it fits into the swampy green and brown landscape of the world. I can freely breathe in the musty air of the city, feel the taste of the stuffy underground, listen to the noise of life, feel the soft ground beneath my feet, and see movement as if it were a special pattern. i love understanding and awareness, and I truly strive for it.

however, this love can suddenly take on a dead undertone. people cease to be as interesting and diverse, becoming nothing more than a noisy receiver. the crowd is intertwined into a pile of meat, ridiculous, colorless, i feel as if the thread is thinning between us and I no longer feel attached to places and people. it's like a grinding sound: unbearable and loud. our bodies are sick and rotting in convulsions every day, the molecules of our cells are suffocating each other, screaming in pain, reproducing nausea, this is how our existence works, our belief in health is worthless.

the laughter of my dear girlfriend turns into a mechanical clanging, and the cheerful conversations of my comrades turn into a continuous, unpleasant noise, like the sound of malfunctioning machines. the smiles turn into distorted grins that i can barely force myself to emit.