I am a godless object of epiphanies fire, and a master of trapeze artistry. Swinging higher and higher, impeding lines of reckless destruction. My itinerary is stock-full of internal nukes. Every passing breath I take is shallow and husky. I’ve come to believe my lungs are lined with gun powder and accumulated pixie dust. I’ve scoured this room every day of my seemingly millennial prison sentence. Cursing my foolish heart for clinging to the webbed traces of hope that still tinkle and echoe in through my concave hollows. Every moment spent in search of an exit that does not exist leaves me in incredible despair. But today, today there is something about sitting in wait of nothing that forces me to my feet. Something making me retrace every inch of my room. Something keeping me running in circles.
I’ve been running my fingers over the walls for hours. My skin has started to flake off and leave bloody traces.
There’s no way out.No way out. No way in. way in.In. How did I get in here?
I think something in me just snapped that day. I threw myself headfirst from my matress, over and over. I grabbed my head and flung myself into walls, I spiraled deeper and deeper. For hours I invented new ways to torture myself. There was a climax to my delusion. Where in spite of my bloody nose, and black eye, and ripped clothing, I punched myself repeatedly in the head, harder each time. My knuckles were a mess of torn tissue and exposed bone. I don't know wether the pain of my self induced torture made it happen, or the blackness that soon clouded over my vision.
But here I am.
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