Today is a bad day. It's getting worse, or maybe it's just a feeling. I am repulsed with myself. The rattling in my head is starting to become unbearable. I fear the silence and the night. This too shall pass or maybe it's just wishful thinking, I don't really know. Writing is all I have. Frantic, chasing the demons in my head. Trying to put myself back is a hopeless endeavour. Music pulsing in my head, the last bastion of hope. My only saviour . All the alcohol in the world can't save me from myself. The gears inside me have all turned against me. It's a hellish thing to go through. Channeling all of it towards writing. Funneling my self hatred by opening the same wounds again and again. Rapid breathing, numbness everywhere and still I am normal. There is no difference to how I feel, only that I am damned. I hear the call of the void. The anger will soon dissipate along with my will to live. A week? Days? I don't know how long I'll last from the endless downpour of the rain. I am drowning and there's no lifesaver, only bystanders waiting for me to become another statistic, another name to be crossed out in a list of people beaten by a world full of judgment.
Story