Gone

I think I’m going insane. My mind is plagued by despair and pain. I’m internal and numb. Not even comfortably. Just numb.

There’s a pit and bleak blackness where light used to be. And endless waterfall of tears that won’t flow. A dam built of lies and hurt.

Who can help that which is uncontrollable? Who can decide what comes next? I’m not used to being out of control. Spinning out and coming undone.

I’m loosened and unmoored. Drifting without direction, trying to return to the harbor. But I’ll never be the same boat - I’ve hit too much debris along the way.

The tide keeps carrying me. Pushing me.

I want a different metaphor. I want a different life. I want this chain off my neck.

It’s bleak. It’s pitch black. It’s anxiety about nothing and everything. Unexplainable and desperate. A tapping of my leg. My hands. My knee. My fingers. My toes.

The itch at the roof of my mouth. Boring into my brain. Trying to relive the pressure in my skull. The animal needs out. Out of its cage. Free of the bars. Free of the rage.

I want whatever’s next. It could be better. It could be worse. The devil I know is already bad so let’s play a bit of Russian roulette. Let’s let it all out through the giant hole blown through my head.

I want to walk on a floor of lava. Feel the skin flayed from my soles. To feel anything at all. To let the world cleanse me through the base of my body. I’ll touch grass after that. I’m sure it will feel great.

I want. I need. I’m full of desires and requests and nothing is for me. Nothing will be for me again. It’s all for them. For others. For the ones who take. The ones who take. And take. And take.

I have no more to give and yet they take. More and more. Chunks of me lopped off. Sliced and torn. Shorn from my flesh. Given freely. Taken forcibly.

I’m not sure what’s left. Of me. Of life. Of these words on the page. They are fleeting and yet on the internet so forever. Never to be withdrawn if archived. Never to be real behind an avatar. Hidden life. Hidden lies. Secrets told with no follow through.

Don’t believe it. None of it. Not without a face. Without a name. A spector in the interwebs. Hiding behind a facade of ephemeral smoke and mirrors.

I’m not real. None of you are. None of it is. We’re not here. My mind is no longer working.

It’s all gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Until next time.