Entry 06

Today,

I turn the knife a million times in my gut. There is a mouthful of words stuck between my clenched teeth. Staining. Rotting. I’m chocking on what can’t be said.

I can feel the soreness and dryness of the claw marks that are scratched on the walls of my throat. It is the self, attempting to escape through my paralytic tongue. Nothing is working. My jaw is shut tight.

I feel my body turning against me, eating my insides out. I’m numbed to the core, and I fear that if I am not held soon then I might disappear. (Don’t hold me, you’ll stain yourself)

I ruminate constantly on this image of standing in the middle of a cold street. I feel the headlights of a car appear behind me, I hear the tires screech, but I don’t move. I strap my feet down and I don’t turn around. My head hits the pavement, I have a smirk on my face. But the more the thought replays in my mind, the harder my head hits the pavement each time.

I fear I am losing this fight.