Sick of feeling lonely. Sick of being exhausted. Sick of looking forgiving. Tired of putting on this illusion of false joy. When hidden behind this wide eyed smile is a broken and disappointed heart surrounded by the grime that fills one so depressed and unforgotten. The thoughts of free expression are enchanting. They mask the truth of life with all it’s entangled horrors. The paranoid raving are simply a release of imprisonment from a mouth taped closed by responsibility. The weight that the world so delicately places on the shoulders of each individual is painful to think about. To wish the burden on myself sounds unthinkable. Watch the blood run through clear tap water with its appealing mineral taste is no more than an attempt to stop the salt from streaming down my face.
A purgery of sorts. Trying to get rid of all the corruption with in this sickness I call a body. God, forgive me. The body is supposed to be a temple. I’m sorry that mine is just a worn down gas station waiting to be shredded and torn apart like a rotting book on the sidewalk. Wanted to be closed. To show no emotion. A silver rock in the corner of a dingy fish tank. Splendid horror. Bloody, deadly hell. Sleep is not meant to be forever and the awakening is crude and unwelcome. Sick of feeling lonely. Sick of being exhausted. Sick of looking sick. Tired of putting on this illusion that I am actually still alive.

-tess