My Thoughts

My Sheets

My sheets are stained with each and every problem, cut and scar I've ever had. From emotional tough nights to the one time I cut myself with a butter knife. I rip them off my bed and stuff them in the corner. I look at my bare bed and decide what to put on there. I ponder and narrow it down to a clean sheet. No problems. No tears, no blood, no stains.

I drop down onto the bed and hear the faint whispering. I push it aside in my head and clip my headphones over my head. I think about the day I've had and the day I will have tomorrow. I sit here regretting what today was and dreaming of what tomorrow could be. That's what I've been described as. A dreamer. I'm not realistic enough. The music blasts through my brain fueling it with these unnecessary impossible dreams that keep Me going. I look down and see another message. For the first time today a genuine smile spreads across my face and I reply quick to make sure she doesn't disappear. I place my phone down again. I clutch my bed sheet to stop me getting too happy. It creased the whole way down. I look up at my ceiling and sigh with the smile still laying on my face. I get up off my bed and walk over to my desk. I pull up the tab and look at the bar. Almost full. I wish it was quicker. I'd be over so much faster. If already be gone. I wipe a smudge.

I move off my chair and look in the mirror. My skin is a dark black except the beaming smile that is radiating energy unlike I've seen in the mirror. Around my mouth a patch of my Pastey skin slips through. It reminds me why I put on the dark mask. Underneath its too soft. Its too vulnerable. Its too inviting. Its too me.