Goodbye Graceful (Ronnie Radke love story, 3rd book in The Drug In Me series )

67. Nothing

**** thank you all for being here with me on this incredible journey throughout this series it just means the world to me really <3 I'm really proud of this chapter. Sorry it's not happy though****

*Ryker*
~

Cold. That's what I feel. The dirt underneath me does nothing to chase away the cold. The earth is supposed to be warm. But it is musty, and there is nothing to keep me warm. I am nothing but the cold.

The skin wrapped tautly across bones that hold back thoughts. Mind pressing tightly against the folds that keep me together. I am nothing but the shaky skin.

The pain comes and goes. It is a reminder of my situation. I am nothing but the pain.

The voices. I don't know who's they are. Maybe they are memories. Maybe they are people. Maybe they are me. Maybe they are all in my head. I am nothing but the voices.

The man. He creeps across my body like cold sweats, terror and torture. He forces his way inside of me, and in my head. He may leave, but not completely. He is inside of me, a constant. I am nothing but His.

The abuse. It hurts. It covers my body in proof that no one will see. I couldn't keep it hidden if I wanted to. I am not clear, I am covered. I am nothing but the abuse.

The hope. Hope for those who's existence keeps my heart beating. Hope for my freedom. It ruins me. It is nearly as painful as being trapped. I am nothing but the hope.

The smile on his face. His glee at my pain. His smirks, His distasteful words made to harm me. I am nothing but His entertainment.

The dirt. I can feel it under me, in my fingernails. Finding it's way into my eyes, my lungs, my nose, clogging me up and taking over. I am nothing but the dirt.

The laughs. He is all about my pain. He loves it. I am nothing but His dark secret.

The people above. The sound of faraway cars. Muffled voices. Whether they are real or fake, I do not know. The sound of footsteps closing in, too soft and sweet to be His. The people, they do not even know that I am here, that I am crying silently in my tomb. I am nothing but their unawareness.

The tears. Beads of salt water balling up and pouring out of empty eyes made of pain and loneliness. I am nothing but the crying.

The cuts. Red life lines blossoming into roses across my body, spreading and taking over. Covering pale parchment with red. I am nothing but the blood.

The bruises. Blue and black. Red and purple. Dark, light, grassy weeds shooting out of a ghosty landscape. I am nothing but the damaged.

The heartbreak. Heart shattering. Heartstrings ripping. Blood pooling out as vital organs are punctured in painful torture. I am nothing but the broken organ.

The fear. Shaking mountains, creaking trees. A voice above and I fall. Timber into barren landscapes. I am nothing but the trembles.

The suffocation. Lungs closing up. Chest constricting. Short breathes and shaky filling. I am nothing but the breathless.

The drifting minds. Falling unconscious. Hardly aware of anything. Unsure of what has happened, not aware to care. I am nothing but the numbness.

The empty. No one in this grave with me. I am all by myself. Barren rooms and silence pressing me to the ground. I am nothing but blank.

The mind. Making up my insides. My only companion. Sometimes I wish it would leave. It talks too much. I am nothing but insanity.

The feelings. Emotions raw and bleeding. Poisoning everything. Worry. Fear. Pain. Hurt. Shock. Hope. I am nothing but the mess of gnarled feels.

The questions. What if-? When will I be free? Will I die? Am I alive? Is He here? Is anyone okay? I am nothing but uncertainty.

The love. Heart beats painfully. Pulse rapidly increases. Constantly wondering about them. I am nothing but my fucked caring.

The darkness. Creeping along walls, enveloping me. Light overpowered. Chills as shadows crawl across my skin. I am nothing but the unknown.

The above. I am nothing but wonder. What is happening up there? Who is here? What is the wind like? What do trees look like right now? I am nothing but blind.

The time. I am nothing but ticking. A bomb. An hourglass. I am running out. I am nothing but an expiration date.

The hunger. Gnawing at my stomach. The need for nourishment. Energy ebbing as my body eats itself to keep conscious. I am nothing but the lacking.

The thirst. Dry throat. Desperate mouth. Burning need for wet water sliding down my throat, easing the pain. I am nothing but need.

The fights. Clenched fists. Angry words. Hoarse voices. Shaky breaths. I am nothing but the anger.

The desire for freedom. Longing eyes and far away escapes. Dreams of ladders. Imagining wind, flowers slightly flowing. Fantasies of soft grass and flower crowns. The scent of trees. I am nothing but what I don't have.

The wanting. Desires to run on sidewalks. Wishing to ascend the ladder to the world. I am nothing but desperation.

The silence. No one around. No talking. No sound. No I love you's. No hello's. No how are you's. No come here's. No I miss you's. No look at this'. I am nothing but the loneliness.

The pounding. Physical creations of mental turmoil. Made up images. Illusions and trickery. They appear but they are not there. I am nothing but hallucinations.

The loss of energy. The ability to stay awake waning. Losing myself to closed eyes. Not knowing the difference between nightmares and reality. I am nothing but exhaustion.

The leftovers. Words from people who aren't there. Whispers of disappearing figures. Hands smacking thoughts into my head. I am nothing but others opinions.

The remnaints. Harsh outbursts left after knives are put away. Wounds from inside that never heal. Remaining memories of forever doubts. I am nothing but haunted.

The abuse. The pain. The terror. The doubts. The uncertainty. The man behind it all.

I am nothing.