The tally mark scabs on my thighs itch as I wait impatiently in the front seat of a beat up Chevy.
The same routine consumes me in a dull paradox every day.
Over and over again, I'm put through an icy hell full of pain and neglect.
I see the words of my demons spiral around my head and it becomes hard to breathe.
A flash of realization paralyzes me and suddenly it's like I'm stuck.
It's as if I'm walking through thick gel and there's no true way to escape it.
My lungs feel so heavy and the world around me tilts.
Buzzing in both ears can be heard as tears form in my eyes.
I wish I was dead.
God why can't I die?
There's plenty of innocent people out there who have lost their lives when they had so much potential.
They wanted to live.
And yet I'm sitting here wanting to kill myself.
How fucking selfish is that?
The world starts to fade back to normal and my breathing steadies, but for the rest of the day I'm filled with an unquenchable guilt.
