Since the moment I took my first breath in this cold, dark, hatefilled world, it feels as if I've been in a never ending battle to survive. Always trying, fighting.
Kill or be killed.
Trust no one or bear the pain that trusting people causes.
I have lived my whole life this way. Constantly afraid, permanently cautious, nearing my capacity for what I can live through. I'm creeping closer to the edge of insanity with each day that blurs by. The threat of one push and I could be forced to surrender. Leaving behind the life I've wasted by hating it. Fading away from the cage I've been locked in, trapped in my own depressive thoughts. Kept away from any possibility of discovering some form of happiness. Stuck alone in this 'murder house' while being smoothered by my demons.
Finding comfort in silence and darkness, I curl up into a ball underneath my basement staircase. I reach my arm out and use my fingers to trace the cracks in the slightly damp wall while letting the stale aroma of the thickly condensed air hit me. The hard surface of the cement floor and the cold draft doesn't bother me. It feels real, reminding me that I'm alive.
Trying to lull the chaotic war of thoughts colliding violently into one another inside my head, I name the few elements in my existence that make life almost bearable: losing myself when I'm drawing, my mother's spirit and her.
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My Psycho Lesbian Stalker
Teen FictionEverything Cole was close to achieving is threatened when a strange girl appears and forms a seemingly unbreakable obsession with her. On discovering Marceline's existence, someone is brutally murdered. Leaving Cole conflicted whether to run or hel...
