#Madcore: Sometimes I forget I have triggers.

    A bowl of red-coloured vomit. A poem with each stanza in increasing size and different colour reads: "Sometimes I forget I have triggers. Sometimes I forget and I look at my shaking body; I see the trembling limbs, and the dying heart; I see the short breath, and the bleeding nose; I feel the tears rolling down in anxiety and fear. Sometimes I forget I'm on edge. People kill. And I forget I shouldn't go on unprepared, And I forget I don't rest enough, I run against time. But these are all ideals; I look at my shaking body I see the rapidly dying corpse in front of me; I don't have a choice but to be unprepared, No choice but not to rest, but to run against time, Otherwise I die. Apocalyptic dreams, poor prophecies from awareness. I'd love not to forget, but I don't have that chance. I'm amazed, apalled by the echoing voices in my head; The allostatic load ever more pressuring; Soon to be an overload, but not an overdose. Sometimes, it's hard, quite often, even. Yet, I'm here."

    Throwback to months ago, both in pictures and in structures. Hell, maybe in contents, too? Health is declining, but we remain, and we're with you till the end. I might very well be dying, but not now.