[Title:The Bitter-Tasting Guest] The noise doesn't start outside; it explodes within. It is a human static, an out-of-tune chorus of high-pitched frequencies that bite the eardrum: the scraping cry, the mocking laughter, the scream that finds no exit. Words are no longer air; they are ink insects, wretched letters that hiss between the teeth, escaping from a mouth that no longer recognizes itself. And then, the physical warning. That damn little tap on the palate, a metallic, dry aftertaste that acts as the doorbell to a sentence.. .. She is already here. She doesn't knock on the door. She materializes in the twilight of consciousness, stretching her lips into a slow, symmetrical, unbearable grin. She looks you dead in the eye, with the impudence of someone who knows your seams perfectly. She knows that fear is her territory. With an exasperating parsimony, the motherfucker crosses her legs, brushes the dust off her black coat, and settles into your chest, heavy as lead, ready to stay for the season. She inhabits you. And the outside world becomes a distant backdrop while you are left alone with her smile. Original text provided by you, translated: "So many mixed voices infected in my ears, those high-pitched and repellent tones, a fusion of crying, screaming, and laughing; I see wretched and annoying letters escaping, hissing between the teeth. And I notice that taste in my mouth, that little tap that tells me that disgusting companion named anxiety has returned. And the motherfucker smiles at me, looking me in the eye. She knows she's going to be with me for a while; I see how she makes herself comfortable. What you don't know, you bitter woman, is that there’s no room left in my skull. It’s full of fears, hatreds, problems and their curses—nightmares around every corner. My wounds already have an owner, and it isn't you, you stupid amateur. STUPID Amateur! Your fleeting nonsense, your weightless echoes, are nothing but EMPTY WORDS lost in the cracks... Amateur! You’re just the foolish sister of depression.
