||[Oct. 3rd, 2006|08:25 pm]
The bad days keep piling up. |
High higher highest.
I find safety in my comforter, beneath the blankets that cover my existence. My sad sorry excuse of existence. I'm just a sketch of what I used to be, fading fast.
Fast, faster, fastest.
I'm running out of those small orange pills that I use for fuel and I'm scared. My cheeks are damp and
I'm fucking scared.
I'm scared for the days when it hurts, the days when I can feel. I like being numb. I like clenching my teeth as if I'm holding the pain right there between my molars. I like hurting physically as if it eases my mind. I like pretending that one day things will be different. Yes indeed, one day things will be different. One day I will wake up with a clear mind. The room will be bright, with the sunlight streaming in. My feet won't be cold as they touch the wood floors and I will wear a little cotton nightgown. I will sit on the counter eating cereal and look out the window at the perfectly colored green grass.
I will be happy. I will be happy. I will be happy.
But I know this scenario. I know that the floor will be cold, the nightgown wrinkled, the cereal stale, and that there will be a dog shitting in the grass. I will be tired, just like always. I will be tired, and I will be scared. My cheeks will be damp, and
I will be fucking scared.