Kill yourself.
Whispers in the wind that reach up and caress the bleeding parts of your soul, feeding on their pain and hopes and dreams. Telling them sweet nothings that make them scab over and leave no trace, while creating new hole all the same. Ones that tell you to do awful things that your mind hates to think about.
Grab the blade.
Sometimes they like to attack in the dead of night, telling you to go to the window, to the roof and go on a walk. And you think, 'But won't I fall?' and they giggle before telling you they will catch you. Don't you trust them? 'Of course.' They haven't failed you yet. Why would they now?
They've healed you, some. Given you strength to stand up to the bad other parts that were giving you false hope about getting better that way. Talking to people and telling them what's wrong. They say, in just the time of the walk, you can be healed.
Walk. Keep going.
And so you go. Up and out through the metal mine field outside of your window that was your escape and is now leading you away. The whisper in the wind are stronger than ever, whipping around your ankles like dogs and your hair like a storm.
And, suddenly, you see the world from the roof top. The cruel world that never seems to understand that, no, there is nothing wrong with you. You are fine and loving the world. Ok, so that's a lie, but they tell you to and they seem to believe it.
Off the edge little one.
Humpty dumpty had a great fall, and the whispers put her back together again.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Diary, What Next, From My Mind
SonstigesA collection of one shots varying from real life conversations with friends, to song fics, to sad, to happy, to gay, to straight. Basically, whatever I feel inspired to write.
