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Wilting Flower

She’s the wilting flower standing alone on your windowsill.  Shrinks away from the light.  Rejects the water you give.  Only the drugs can help her now.  Yet you deprive her and she’s left with nothing.  Ever left to be the wilting flower you pity yet do nothing to help.  Because you enjoy it.  You enjoy seeing her wilting.  Hurt.  Weak.  Alone.  In need.  It makes you feel good as you watch her slowly dying, pleading to you to help.  You stand there, doing nothing.  Watching her die.  You feel nothing.  Nothing for the life you tasted.  Less for the life you wasted.

Falling

I feel like I’m falling a thousand times over, over and over again into the bottomless pit someone set here before me All I can do is cry out your name. Over and over again, but you can’t hear me however loud I cry.  So I feel like I’m falling and screaming your name to the empty nothing that's engulfing me on my way down but at least you can’t see me shouting your name to the demons taking over me. At least you can’t see how my defenses are fading my defenses are failing and ultimately dying.  At least you can’t see the nothing I’ve become that is so weak I can do nothing but cry out your name in an attempt to save myself. Cos I’m fading and failing and falling and the fear's taking over me. It seems like there’s nothing left and I’m getting smaller as every little thing eats away at me inside. Everything I let inside me turns against me and hurts me to the core of my being so I’m left with nothing.  So I’m left a shell that’s falling and whispering your name.

Easier to Lie

Tell yourself life is great.  Tell yourself that everyone's equal.  That children aren't preyed on by paedophiles.  That the guy who robbed the old woman on the corner is a good person inside.  That he's sorry. That the politicians aren't corrupt.  That people don't get further in life 'looking after number one'.  That if you cried in the street a stranger would stop and ask what was wrong. Tell yourself that people will accept you the way you are if you do them.  That the Church seeks the truth.  That your partner means it when they say they'll love you forever.  That the world isn't prejudiced.  That your boss doesn't have favourites.  That hard honest work will pay off.  Tell yourself that life is fair. That your God is forgiving.  That saying sorry makes everything better.  That your parents will always love you, whatever you do.  That tomorrow's another day, a fresh start.  That friends are forever.  That people aren't selfish and would put your needs first.  That people deserve what they get.  That your tears are worth something. And all the lies will form a delicate web that'll be the only thing to catch you when you fall, knowing that one or other really is a lie that you can't believe anymore.  You need the rest of them to prop up your world, catch you, otherwise you'll just fall further into nothing.  Tell yourself that someone loves you.  That they'll be there to catch you.  That that's not just another lie.  That there really is more to life.  That it's not easier to lie.  Because it is.

Spreading the Sickness

The clock on the pile of magazines next to me illuminated a small area of space around it, just enough to see the title of the main feature: "Spreading the Sickness".  How ironic. Nine twenty five am.  I should be up, be walking down the street with a smile on my face and a spring in my step on my way to today’s lectures. Looking forward to a new day and being thankful that I’m alive.  All after a nutritious breakfast of course. But I’m not.  I'm lying sprawled on my mattress in an old Jack Daniels T-shirt that I haven't changed in three days.  My body half on the mattress half on my floor, surrounded by old magazines, essays and scattered photos of better times.  I haven't changed anything in three days. I woke up three days ago and felt it.  The black cloud again.  That's what it's like.  When you wake up and are afraid that you are going to live.  When you feel that you understand everything and that everything makes no sense.  When life seems too hard to deal with and because other people can handle it must mean that you're broken.  Out of order.  When the smallest things become the greatest tragedies and nothing is merely as it seems on the surface.  When everything means something and everything, including you, means nothing. I just couldn't face it.  Couldn't face getting up and going into the world and pretending that it was all ok.  That I was ok.  So I didn't.  Again it's the same.  The small gap in my curtains lets the world through but I can’t get up and shut it out.  It's raining outside, I can hear it pattering; the raindrops linger on the glass.  I used to love the rain, dancing in it.  But I haven't done that in along time, maybe I won't again. As I think this I feel my eyes swell and produce a tear that rolls gently down my cheek like the raindrops on my stone cold window.  And although I feel empty and alone I still can't get up.  The smallest possibility that I might find an umbrella out there to protect me from the black cloud that feels like it's engulfing me is nothing compared to the rain I know will fall.  It's already started.  So I stay, I wait, I lie.  Easier to lie than live.  In the world.

....As she slips beyond his reach

Fill these holes within my head with something more than vague beliefs and false truths.  I need something to grasp onto as I sit here contemplating my downfall.  Stop me someone, I've nothing left to hold onto.  Can’t stop the inevitable any longer by myself.  My mind has nothing of promise, worth or sustenance that could ever matter or make a difference to anybody in any way. Especially not me.   I had something inside me that stopped me when I wanted 2 feel.  Wanted to bleed.  Now though, it’s gone. Nothing to stop me bleeding, feeling again.  Or is it really feeling?  Could it just be another trick my mind plays?  How do I know what's real and what's not.  So many times I’m sure and then something happens so I know that I was wrong.  How can I ever know?  Maybe I’m not meant to know what it is to be  happy without knowing that it is in some way tainted? Something's gone though.  What it was I don’t know, how to reclaim currently seems impossible.  Madness no longer believed to be the product of some new demon within the mind, but instead, the lack of another entity.  This one of control and command.  Madness merely lack of sanity and control.  It sound so simple.  Sometimes I understand what I need to have in my head.  Then again, sometimes I don’t and I just want anything.  Anything to give my life meaning or significance.  If my life had meaning then I couldn’t just be.  Just be.  Be myself.  Be someone else.  Be anything, or nothing, at all.  Ever.