Its hard to escape myself. I think about hurting myself a lot. Right now there is a push pin right next to me, and I"m writing to keep my hands from picking it up and sticking it into my side. I'm listening to cheerful music. I feel sick; I've got a thousand things to do. I can't stand myself. I imagine this is what a lemming feels like. The pull into a greater unknown, a dark sight. The fear beckoner, the sweet enticings of that void crawler. An unknowner licking its lips with my being. I'll be with you soon... Or I won't. I feel like rejecting my stomach. The brain vicegrip clamps tighter each day. To be or not to be, it is indeed the question. Oh Hamlet, I'm sure you were happy for your death in the end. That poison was sweet and warm; a sleep well earned. I've taken up not eating much. Its that slow sort of knife, a simple one, an easy one. Befitting of someone so weak. I hate myself. I hate being around me. I'd like to 'jump ship' as they said about him. Ready to drown.
No comments:
Post a Comment