Write.

The darkness, she returns in me. I can feel her growing again. The lack of sun is just right, the roots are already deep enough, my tears dry and heartless enough, everything cold, cold enough again. The beginning of the end! The end of my wobbly beginnings, rebeginnings, I am sick of beginning, again again again, each every cold harsh day. Let her majesty reign supreme! Let the darkness wash over me. A small piece of sanity dances inside, a very small part piece of me dances in the cage of cruelty, dancing for my life. My feet are bloody and I am tired. Sleep! Sleep! She calls. I must stay awake, awake awake living life. Clown class tomorrow. I will scare them all with my morbidity, I am afraid. Oh well. Let them be uncomfortable. It makes me laugh.

I have to be alive to write. Write right write right. Right. Alive.

Hours later. Calmer, better. I miss the madness, I cannot lie. But I do not want her to take over. A brief visit, a quick hello, an afternoon at most is enough to satisfy, but further than this I will become derailed.

There is no eraser, no delete or escape button. I have to walk forward. There is only going forward. Am I falling into mania again? Am I psychotic? Am I psychotic to believe that there is some force trying to harm me from the inside? 7 months since my last hospitalization. Am I doomed for another? I hope not. Pfft. This is getting old, brain. I just want to do my homework in peace. But life is not simple, not for most. I am angry and frustrated. Breathe it out. Breathe it out. Breathe in, breathe out. That’s all. That’s all I need to do to stay alive. It’s that simple. Uh, I am slowly unraveling. “Left them to burn in their hour of death”. Bright Eyes, Perfect Sonnet. I stay for my family, because they would be lost and confused and in pain, and we’ve caused each other enough pain for a life time. And I am bad with rope. Ha ha. Well, I find it funny. Short spans. What am I doing wrong? I do not want to die. I simply have the urge to pursue death. As a hobby, almost. How perfectly morbid. The urge in me is dying. The urge to die is dying, over the course of these minutes here. I almost feel normal. Oh but that’s a disaster waiting to happen. Don’t isolate, keep eating and bathing. Keep up with school work. Oh, there is a part of me that is so angry, that wants to die out of spite, to starve the world of that much more happiness, to make a statement. But what a poor and blind sited statement. Suicide says nothing. It is nothing.

About Moon Eggs

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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