You know when you need help when you admit to people that you enjoy all the insults. All the betrayals. Pain. Suffering. Despair.
I accepted my black sheep while I was gone... too much, I guess.
I shout to the world that I harm myself when I am afraid of harm itself. I yell that they can keep insulting me all they want! Put me down, kill me! Do it! Do it now!
You know you have a problem when you realize, this isn't the sheep's fault.
I thought that I needed to see all my black sheep away, then accepted them, then absorbed them. The calming chime of the bell left me.
I laugh in the face of Death.
And I accept this fate of mine. I can't ask for help- help is useless, I have grown to learn.
I can't make it rain to others, but I can do it myself.
Maybe that's why I couldn't help them. Why they left me.
Because deep down, they knew I would enjoy it.
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Counting Sheep
Teen FictionOne sheep, two sheep, This is not helping at all. Three sheep, four- Someone kill me, I must snoop this low. Five sheep, six sheep, I feel tired, but the waters still flow. Seven sheep, eight she- It looks like the sheep hit a wall. I guess eight sh...
