The spilt dreams

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The blue hued light flicked again

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The blue hued light flicked again. The dust floated around my room as I lay, spread across my bed. My mind wandering off to darker places. I slowly get up looking around my room. It's a mess, just like my life. I stand up and walk towards the yellow tinged bathroom.

As my feet touch the wet floor I am reminded of all the spilt dreams I had. To be a rapper. To at least have enough money for a house. To travel the world. To make my parents proud.

I guess we create dreams to bring some kind of hope to the world around us; But these dreams always seem to fall apart.

I grip the edge of the sink, looking at the rusted mirror before me. In the reflection it shows a boy, not a man, trying desperately to grip onto reality, onto hope, onto a dream that has been spilt.

Looking down at the bottles of colourful pills, I ask myself would anyone find me if I overdosed?

Would anyone even go to my funeral? That is if I have a funeral.

I picked up a bottle of pills and gripped it tightly as I popped off the lid with my other hand. The lid landed on the wet, tiled floor, leaving an echo to run through the bathroom.

Pills slowly fell into my hand as I looked at the reflection for what felt like the millionth time.

I couldn't do it.

I looked down at my hand that held a fist full of drugs ready for me to swallow, for me to die, but yet I can't.

For some unknown reason I drop the fist full of tablets and watch as they fall down the drain.

Looking back up at my reflection I feel the anger build up in me to the point where I scream out and punch the mirror.

I watch as small shards of glass fall to the ground and the anger slowly turns into regret.

I'm so craven.

Craven AU - M.Y.Where stories live. Discover now