eyhcmas
[Medicating will be good, they said.]
The warm liquid slithered down her throat, leaving an unpleasant trail of burning sensations until it reached the end of its trail.
[You will forget all your troubles. You will be free.]
She stumbled off her chair, knocking over her glass in the attempt to save herself from falling completely over. She felt arms come up from behind her and prop her up as she gradually found her footing and lifted herself from her slump.
[You're almost there, just a bit more and you won't remember a thing.]
It was something that was perpetually shifting along the timescale. It was as transient as life itself - here today, gone tomorrow. What was new today would be considered dated when the sun rose again in the morning. Its continuity was something that could not be destroyed; there was always something that held its definition.
The age of innocence, of youth, of naivete, where things can still ignite this sense of wonder of the world, evoke bursts of emotions within your chest that make you feel warm and fuzzy.
Before it jades you.
Before the cynicism hits like a tidal wave, crashing over you head, tearing you away from all that is pure and ideal.
Tearing you away from the bubble that held you like a warm embrace and kept you from the biting colds of reality.
Shoot the puppy.
Because you're dead inside.
We are hollow shells.
That's how I feel sometimes.
Hollow.
Like a gaping darkness gradually stretching out, the edges broadening until it fills me whole.
Ironic, being filled completely with nothingness.
I feel so much yet feel so little.
It's only when something stop functioning properly that you realise its true significance.
It's not a surface for you to cry on, that implies dependence.
You do not want to be dependent.
Dependence requires trust.
Trust breeds vulnerability.
And trust me, you do not want to be vulnerable.
You're my taboo.
My weakness, the irrational choice.
I know I shouldn't, my entire logical mind screams adamantly against it, raging within for my physical being to listen, but it remains caged, a rampaging tasmanian devil trapped in a prison.
While I take the leap.
I fall.
Flashbacks or abstract ideas pulled from the recesses of our minds.
The reflection of our thoughts and fantasies, a swirl of memories forming a coherent stream of words.