Think of the stars.
When it's too bright out, when there is too much light, too much innocence, too much good, you can't see the stars. When it's dark out, though, when it's pitch black, pure evil, sadness, whatever, you can see the stars. You see the little specks of light, of colour, in the endless darkness. Those specks? They are hope. However sometimes.. sometimes you can't get hope. It's too far away, out of reach, so it just taunts you.
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The endless black is behind me, trying to grab me.
The voices; they´re speaking, begging. They want me, they want to claim me, to make me become part of the darkness. However, she is holding me. She is holding onto my hand, refusing to let go. But I squirm. I squirm away, and she loosens her grip on me. She yells at me, she doesn't want to let me go. I stop for a while, then squirm again, and she decides to let go. She lets go, letting me drift off, into the endless darkness around me. The voices laugh; they caught me. Finally. Now I float through the darkness, seeing colourful specks that are barely out of reach, that taunt me with hope. I try to go back, try to get back to her, but I only drift farther and farther away.
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We try to live. We try to live, even though a side effect of life is death. When we do want to die, though, we try. We try, and when it fails, our brain begs for us to die, while the rest of our body fights for life. It fights for life, only to die later. When we don't want to die, sometimes, our body fights us, wanting to die, while our brain wants us to live. Or, sometimes, we want to live and our body does, too. Honestly, humans themselves do not choose whether or not they live. Their bodies do; we have no control over it.
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I walk through the hallway with my friend, heading towards the buses. We goof off and mess around, when suddenly my friend propels forward and stumbles. He bumps into someone, and then regains his balance. He hadn’t tripped, however. Someone had pushed him. I turn around and see who did it. He was short and had a fire in his eyes. He cursed out my friend and I, calling us slurs. He pushes my friend again, and I shove the kid backwards so my friend and I could get away. The kid drops his backpack, ready for a fight, but I turn and grab my friend's hand, and together we bolt to the buses. We were laughing from adrenaline and the disbelief that I had done that, but neither of us could mistake the look of fear on the other's face.
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Hallucinations and Noise
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The noise won't stop– I want it to, but it won't. I cover my ears, but it just makes it worse. I wish I could go underwater, block out the noise and mute it. I wish I could drown myself in music, or go outside and listen to Mother Nature. Yet, I can't. I have to sit inside of these classrooms, zoning out and getting lost in my mind as the teacher drones on and on and on. The feeling of something brushing against me shocks me out of my mind, and the noise of whispering makes me look around. No one is whispering, no one is near me. I shake my head, mad at the fact I had started hallucinating. It's been bad lately, but not bad enough to make me feel insane. I simply ignore it and drink my lemonade, listening to Professor talk about our assignment. I feel something brush against my neck, but nothing is there. I focus more on the teacher, more on what he's talking about, and the whispers continue, but they're a lot easier to ignore. I began writing my poems, my notes. The hallucinations die down a little, and I finally relax. All I have to do is focus on something else; sometimes easier said than done.
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Why won't the noise stop? Every time it gets better, it gets loud again. It never quiets down enough for me to be at ease. There's too much going on.
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I ran to the water. It was low tide, and a sea cave on the side of a cliff was visible, but it was rapidly disappearing. The tide was coming in, and I bolted for it. I don’t know why, but I needed to go in there. I needed to. I ran for it, my feet sinking in the sand. I don’t know if it was wet or not. Logically, it had to be, but it did not feel wet nor dry. It was simply there, pulling me down. I ran to the cave as the waves crashed over me, and I dove in right as a big wave crashed against the entrance. The wave did not enter the cave– though there was some water in the cave, about an ankle deep. The cave wasn’t very big– it spanned maybe a few feet in front of me. There was an offshoot to the left that I noticed later. Against the cave wall, there was a picture. Below the picture were lit candles. Freshly lit candles, for there was no wax dripping down the side of the candle. There were also flowers– I don’t remember the kind, but they were in a clear vase and they were orange. I was breathing heavily, and the water in my clothes and hair began to disappear. I would say it was evaporating, but it wasn’t. The water droplets were floating upwards, mimicking a disco ball as the light reflected on the cave wall.
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This is how every dream starts.
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