Sitting in the meadow
I smell the damp grass I
feel the wet penetrate my pants,
but i like it. The wind whips my hair around
my face it sticks because of the tears.
This meadow used to bring happy memories, but
now its all so cold... everything is so cold.
Not even my thickest coat warms me.
Its suffocating . The damp grass smell is becoming
to much but as I try to leave ... I cant , because this
is my personal hell.
Tortured and ripped apart in my own mind. Picking
at my own brain, all for what sanity? What is sanity?
There aren't any colors here, everything is grey and darker grey.
the only color is the green at the tippy top of the large oak tree,
it beckons me, trying to seduce me, but I wont go... I wont.
Even though it calls out my name loudly. I know
I should go but I like my grey nothingness
I'm comfortable in it.
I am filled to the brink with self doubt . continuously questioning...
confusion... questions .
Is it worth it? Will I make it? Is this right?
The all swirls around me, each letter dancing across my eyes . Each
word singing into my ears. ringing loudly.
"STOP."
I scream
Standing I walk to the tree and I yell.
"What do you want from me."
Silence. Deafening silence , this happens every time.
I sit back down in my damp grass and let it all begin again.
