Dreams Over Reality

A Week of Silence

Day One
I sat in my chair, thinking about the day ahead of me.
Writing to forget what I failed to.
Humming the songs that fill my veins with power.
Power.
Power.
I still have the power to change this fate.
Had.
I had the power to change that fate.
Suddenly my bones became brittle and standing upright would make me crack beneath the pressure of the lies alone.
Don't lie.
Do not lie to me.
The clouds swoop in and rain on the parade outside.
The joyful laughter sickens me.
But why?
Because I can't be happy in this crisis.
Fuck the virus, I mean this internal crisis.

Day Two
I remember zoning into this fantasy game.
Killing every monster and every beast I came across.
Until I felt blood on my hands.
Dead.
People.
I look down and saw the armor attached to my skin.
Broken.
Reality.
Suddenly the heart within my chest began to beat like it never had before.
Ready to kill.
Ready to die.
Ready to—
I'm not sure anymore.
Upon further inspection my family was bleeding out on the kitchen floor, staring up at me.
Scared.
I don't think I moved from my chair.
Yet here I am, bloodied knife in my hand, towering over half-dead family.
Hm.
I don't intend to stop here, do I?

Day Three
I don't remember who I killed in my past life to bring me this pain today.
Tomorrow.
Yesterday.
I hate the past me of yesterday's bore.
I can't judge the future me of tomorrow's enigma.
And so I'm surrounded by these white walls dealing with the current me.
Fuck him.
Who told him to be him?
Nobody.
Nobody but time and constant failure.

Day Four
I slit my wrists today.
Bleeding.
This red substance.
Blood?
Pain.
Life?
Lies.
This steering wheel directing my life drifted into oncoming traffic and here I am swerving lanes.
No gas.
I wonder what it was like to have the blood flow my veins and not have it feel like poison.
Like it's sucking away the very thing it's supposed to give.
Fuck it.

Day Five
I thought yesterday was my last day.
Unfortunately I survived.
Unfortunately.
Unfortunately.
Unfortunately.
Unfortunately.
Wait.
What was I saying?
I can't remember.
My scars didn't heal very well.
My brain doesn't really function as well as it used to.
Though, my family came home.
The bloodstains on the floor wasn't there and neither were the bodies.
The blood wasn't on my hands anymore!
Isn't that great?
Maybe...
If I weren't so tired I would celebrate by killing them again.
No wait.
That's not right.
Fuck.
I can't really seem to speak anymore.
Damn.
Breathing hurts sometimes.
I'll go and take a nap.
See ya soon.