Monday, February 26, 2007


So I took a large dose of tranquilizers. I'm writing this to see how long it will be until my slumber takes me away. The horsemen are after me again. The first time I saw them, I thought they were polo players; they're not. These riders have sharp teeth and axes in shadows. I see them more and more as time wears on. I have trouble falling asleep; right now it's 12:52 Monday morning. When I finish this, I'll note the time.

I don't know why I seek. I know I will never find anything by searching for it. I get a little glimpse of love, sanity, purpose, and it's gone just as fast as it came. While we wait for thirty, I think I'll start making plans. It will be thirteen years next month, and I am still lost. I don't know why I bother trying. In the end, there's me and nothing else makes sense. Sometimes, I don't even want to know me. How can I expect someone to be happy with me when I am incapable of being happy with my own skin. My hand looks better to the rest of you, but it will always be the same to me. I see him; I feel him. He's mine, and you can't see him. I know us better than anyone else, no matter how much I tell to the rest of you.

12:58 This is slow

I want to be free. I have a few memories left of our life without my demons. It was unhappy then, as now. However, at least then I knew why. Depression is a bitch, and schizophrenia is a bear. I can't fight either well enough to get them off me. Every day is a challenge, especially now when I'm alone at night, and it seems like the rest of the world rests. Rest is not for me, I think. I have only pain and slumber. That won't matter for long. I'm close; I can feel it. Heavy eyelids can't come fast enough.

I also don't know why I write. It brings me nothing but pain. All the effort in the world, and I still make no sense. Understanding eludes me and makes the rest of you pause. Memories trickle onto the page, but not into your hearts. Like I've said before, this is the only way I know how to show you. This is me! This is my pain! I'm not a butcher, I am meat. I am not a person, I am a relic. I am not like you; I am a monster.

1:06 It won't be long

Check out the entrails I leave here. Nothing is a secret. Even the worst charlatan in the world couldn't mistake my signs etched in blood around me: youth is wasted on the young. Luckily, the end is close. I should be asleep soon; my stomach growls at me, but I shut it up with pepsid. This should be lost.

My intentions are to bring some kind of awareness to the rest of you. I'll never write another note; when the end comes, this will be my best epitaph a few years from now. It won't be a surprise, and everyone will know my motives. Backwards

Did you ever dream it differently? I don't think you have. With my condition, nasty accidents happen. We all know the constant nagging of doubt. Give the benefit to the rest of us; I'll stay on the other side of this madness, hopefully asleep in a few minutes or even a few seconds. Every word has its place at least once. My word right now is Four.


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