The longer I sit alone in the morning, half naked under a robe of light cotten, I feel the skin I'm living in. I feel the way my heart beats through the bones and muscle on top the pallet of my chest plate reverberating into the clothing. I realize that I am terribly alive, and the things inside of me are slowly welling up and sucking out my pride. Everyday I wake up the same way, lingering around too long in one place. Letting the sensation of the sunlight confine me, although this morning the weather's looking awful grimey. This is my mantra of clearing my dread, write a few paragraphs here and properly empty my head. Sometimes it's relieving the feeling of just breathing. Sometimes the past revisits me in smells and the sounds that surround. But I'm new in this old skin of mine. I wonder what's going on inside. I consummated so many horrible things into one awful plague that now it shows up once or twice a day. Unless sedated, and normally I have the means to do so. But why delay the rate of my soul's decay? Now this is where the split peach hairstyle may as well be my brain. On one side there's a devil and the other an angel, both in an epic struggle to get what's in the middle. The consistency of this is starting to make me sick, physically and terribly ill mentally. I keep myself in a place in between, where I hardly smile and never scream, never seem anything but serene, or at least clean of the nightmares and cold stares. The sticky fingers webbing their way through my hair, down my spine and pluck my right inside my glare. It's there but it's not, just a re-occurring thought that someone else can do what I cannot. But even more so it's the guilt of the things she says to me, things that I know aren't true at all and tend to be an awful way to be.
For the last two weeks I've felt myself growing stronger rather than weak, but that's only when I manage to keep away what haunts me. Where am I right now? Stuck on 10 mgs of sanity and cold cup of coffee and not nearly enough cigarettes. Children are playing in their yards although it's early. School's back soon, I remember doing the same thing.
Why do I even write things here? Let everyone in on the fear that I'm losing what I thought I'd cleared. No, it's more for me to control what little is in my possession and attempt to learn from this lesson of this demonic obsession. Maybe it's me just holding back the things I hate and being in a constantly passive state? Or maybe I really do hate myself? Maybe I for a moment convinced myself I had some sort of self wealth? It's making my mind mushier as the words are sprawled out. I feel the fear of everyone knowing, but also the fear of being drowned by it. Healthy is a broad term, and I don't think I fit it. Then again if I were terrible why would anyone call me a 'friend'? Why would the one who loves me want to love me till the end?
Pfff, maybe my only problems are that I over think and my imagination just needs to calm the fuck down.
