My blood pressure is spilling over of guilt; stress sharpens its dagger. The sound of pumping blood resonates louder than usual similar as the volume of an electronic ascending five bars. Guilt feels like a drug, but with the reverse effect—it commits an emotional murder. My conscious is the only accomplice. It uses the tongue with slavery as its purpose for utterances of deceit. Shame injects itself and utterly dispirits all body functions. I chose the wrong instinct—it was the easier of the two. It feels cancerous spreading its infection; a dying sensation making headway after the deed has been committed. This situation can make an 180 degree turn, but I refuse—the entailment is humiliating. The regretted choice is a horrid sensation which will fade away, killing off these painful feelings—or at least that’s the hope. I know I made a mistake—I know I lied.