Blood will be spilled

I’m in a war. My thoughts are getting the best of me and I feel like giving up. In only a few days I got more scars than I’ve had before. It has been years since so many scars have appeared on my skin. I’m done letting the thoughts get to me. I’ve decided to give up. I won’t fight it anymore. If they come, fine. I’ll deal with it. No man can fight a war by himself. That applies to me as well.

I’ve never liked the summer or any of other seasons that is. My mood is worst in the winter, though. I can’t wait until it all goes way. It sounds like I’m ready to end it all, but I’m not. I’m just tired of this battle and so I wave my white flag for all to see. I kind of feel sorry for the strong and stubborn side of me. That part is a target now, because my walls are down. Meaning anything can hurt it. It’s sad, but necessary for now.

I promise whoever who’s reading this: One day I will disappear. Run away to some unknown place on the planet and stay there for as long as it takes. Until I finally feel whole again. 

 

Reklamer

thoughts

Sick to my stomach I try to put the words in a fine, fine line. They stop and they go and come back, but still wrong. I haven’t said a word in hours. I’m quiet. I’m still. If I move the tears will spill. Run down my face, but I can’t take it today. Tonight. Alone and mad, bitter and scared. Wishing bad things to happen but at the same time trying not to think at all. I feel dizzy. I want pills. Mood swings again.

Happy. Positive. Bitter. Mad. Sad. Hate. Love. Crazy. Relax. Scream. Cut. Pills. Hurt. Careless and then WHY.

I managed to put the words in a line. My thoughts. The words that are being said loudly inside my head. The words making me wish I was dead.

Enough,

Broken.