I'm fine. I would even go as far as to say I'm happy. Until it gets dark. Until you're gone in your own bed somewhere far away floating through unconsciousness. Until those razorblades are just a few feet from my grasp and the voices shriek at me to cut into my flesh. Dig away at all the imperfections and bleed out every impurity. I don't know why. I just know I need it. Because it's dark and cold and I'm all alone in the empty space. My bedroom has already swallowed me up, swept me away into its suffocating grasp. I'm broken and I'm trying to pick up the pieces but they're missing or jagged and none of them will bind together again. I open my mouth and call for you but I know you can't hear me. My voice is trapped down in the depths where my devils dance. My voices sing for my blood. Hot tears burn rivers in my cheeks like fire, and my head is spinning with blaring whispers of insanity. The ghosts play tricks on the walls and taunt me where I sit, curled up tight under my covers, trapped by the invisible tethers that my monsters wove with careful fingers. I am trapped, hidden where no one will discover my corpse. I'm so lost, and I don't think I can find myself this time.
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Petty word vomit and unraveled secrets
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