No matter how much you poke and prod and stick me; I will not scream. I am made of glass so thick-it's impenetrable. You can run your fingers up and down my skin. Trace my every flaw with the repercussion of your lips.I will not feel it. My sense of ignorance is entirely blissful. I prefer the ice creeping through my nervous system. I prefer the steel caging my heart, locking me inside myself. I prefer the still silence in my brain. And I wonder, I wonder what it feels like to love and be loved back. To find myself in the still waters of another persons thoughts. Love.
The truth is, I am breaking. I am collapsing. I am screaming. The room is spinning. But I am not crying. I am immune to the torrents. I no longer have the strength readily available to let loose all my pain, and anguish. My insides are dehydrating, cracking. Turning into sand dunes, able to be blown away with the slightest gust of wind. I used to veil myself in ferocious enigmas, letting only the wailing hierarchy control my perplexing emotions. When I was stripped of all dignity and thrown into a prison splattered with the memories of other peoples despair, I abolished the influence the rest of the cruel world had on me. My sanity Is all I have left.
I can't decide if I've forgotten the world, or if the world's forgotten me. I can't remember the last face I saw, the last smile I was given. I've sunk so deeply inwards, I think i've gotten lost in the mazes of my mind.
I'm a prisoner. It seems i've lived my whole life here. In this room. My infinite home. Desolate and barren. It's almost as if any sapling of colour has been purposely bleached to make you crave beauty. It's enough to make you go crazy.
How easy it would be to sink deep inside myself and never return. To become feral,anamilistic . To resort back to my primitive roots. It would be refreshing. It would be expected.
I'm exhausted, but all I do is sleep. My limbs feel heavy. My joints are bloated. I have not felt sunlight beaming on me, taking away the dark shadows... not for so long.
I remember the feeling of rain pelting my skin. Of wind tickling my hair against the nape of my neck. My hand constantly wanders to my scalp, where my once luscious locks used to dance. Framing my face perfectly. After a couple of months (days maybe?years?) It started falling out in beautiful patches. Or maybe I pulled it out, I can no longer decipher the fabrics of reality. I kept the puddles of golden tresses in the brightest corner, too sentimental to let go of one precious fibre.
My main emotion can be described as one thing. Hopelessly nostalgic.
I remember my legs tensing and releasing as I cut through the air. My hair flying out behind me like a cape. I remember my lungs burning struggling to take in oxygen.
The sweat pouring down my face.
Air, I need to breathe.
My body convulsing under blaring heat.
Hot, white light.
Ringing silence.
Screams.Skin crawling shrieks. The sounds of someone something being tortured.
I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.
I'm shaking. Blocked memories of half crazed torture crop up from the unconscious corners of my memory. Things i've tried so hard to block.
Disappointment. It stings like acid in a cut. Like the words of your mother piercing your skin. Screaming profanity through her teeth. Unhinging your jaw and vomiting "monster" down your throat.
I am a disappointment.
I am a murderer.
A monster in a little girls skin.
I would never admit this to anyone, but I enjoyed it. I relished every terrible, sick second of it. The feeling of life dissipating by the second. The wet butterfly wing beat of his pulse. Power flowing through me.
I felt invincible.
I could've bathed in his blood. There was so much blood.
I was diagnosed a sociopath. Told I belong to the demons in hell. Told I am a danger to anyone I even look at.
Then I was tossed in here. Freshly beaten, my brain fried from electroshock therapy to find out what makes me do it. I still find flecks of blood in my patchy hair. Under my fingernails. I haven't seen my reflection in... I don't know how long.
I feel so trapped inside my own body. Trapped inside my own skin. I want to scratch burn peel it off. Everything feels like a tsunami tide. Vacuuming the world out, washing back in, piling on, disappearing. Just to come back bigger. Stronger. I can't get to higher ground. I'm running, running as fast as I can, but my feet are glued to the spot.
I'm losing my mind.
I've been sitting in this spot for three weeks.
And two days.
And seven hours.
and I, I am going to die.
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