1:40 a.m. - 2001-07-02
Buried Alive
Every bead of sweat on my brow is another memory of you.
Every drop of blood that falls from my bandaged wrist is another lost dream.
Every tear that falls delicatly from my cheek to the bathroom floor is another failure represented.
Every scream that surges from my throat is another frustration.
Every piece of shattered glass from the mirror on the wall is a reflection of my depression. I see myself in those small fragments as my mind views me. Destroyed, fragmented, distorted.
I focus in on one in paticular, a small piece in the valley of the oddly colored tile. It portrays just my eyes.
The pathway to the soul. A soul in utter torment. Searching a way to escape reality. Emotion is just a distraction from life, over in the twinkle of an eye.
It's to late to turn back. I've already crossed the border to insanity. I am quickly forgotten. How convenient.
I can't escape reality, I don't want to. I don't want to see life as the ignorant do. I don't want to be trapped in my own little world.
Better to be viewed as insane, then it is to viewed normal, to be viewed as ignorant. As one of the flock, as one of the sheep. As one of people who close their eyes to the truth.
I'll be insane...gladly..
What does normalcy have to offer anyone but lies.
News Flash, alive at 5, man found dead on bathroom floor. Suicidal tendencies are a bitch. To stop the pain, to stop it all, to stop my mind from running the marathon, to stop thinking. To feel nothing. To end it all..
No. That's the easy way out. Life builds character. heh, what a joke. I'll just stay, I suppose. "Play the game".
I wish someone could hear my screams.
<3 Dan
