I write to fall asleep at night, to hide away from all my fright.
I stay awake with all this in my head, trying, lying to myself that I’ll never end myself and feel like the undead.
I lie to myself making this pain subside, but it all turns and hides away from me.
I know that it is getting worse, that it is a curse, that it left me in hell.

I know I know my remedies are killing me, that all I can see is but a fragment of the shattered glass that cuts me from the inside out.
It hurts to feel and to feel unreal and to feel at all is too real for this harsh reality.
I know that this can go on and on until the very depths of oceans swallow up this vast land.

I know that this is just a list from the list of fragmented souls who kissed their wounded parts of themselves and missed out on healing the ripped pieces of skin away from their hearts. That is how all of this starts.

I don’t know why I feel so alone, why does this house full of life feel like an empty home? Why do I condone my life to this restless fate of feeling unwanted and feeling like my feelings are haunted? Why do I have to be an emotional wreck of a building being torn down or an empty card deck?

Why do I not know what is the matter with me, why nobody will hear my plea, why my feelings never subside and I want to flee and hide? Why can’t this feeling go away for a year, a month, a day? Why must it have its way and make me feel like I have to stay with all the curses behind locked doors, it implores me to stay and feel like it’s yours?

What is the matter? Maybe I wouldn’t feel so shattered if I stopped asking for the past to come back, then my heart and mind won’t misinterpret this for missing when it’s an attack. An attack to get me back to the same ways of things I used to lack. It’s trying to hide my voice without my choice for it to go away and make me feel alone again.

But then I feel better for months on end, and I feel like I can depend on my mind to tell me I am fine. I feel like it’s all too real and I can feel it all again and then it sends me to the dream state I call reality and we sit for tea and we drink until all is fine and happy.

So this is just the little taste of the sweet haste we call our minds. No one finds this more confusing than I.