romanticizedsuicide

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He sat there. Shirtless. Surrounded by bundles of pure white blankets and duvet covers. The window open, a soft cool breeze ruffling his long, bedhead hair. Upon his thigh, he rested his acoustic, his fingers on one hand feeling along the wiry strings and the other pushing on his thick rimmed glasses up to the bridge of his crooked nose. His fingers tapped and strummed as he began playing a slow, melodic rhythm. His eyes met mine with intensity. Staring. I wake up and feel emotional every time I have this dream. It keeps returning, haunting me. The sad fact is, I know who the boy is. And he is unattainable perfectness. I will never admit it. Apart from here.

mutual

I wish what me and you could've gone through was a mutual decision over our relationship. Instead, you ran away when I told you I loved you and left me heart broken. Scared little boy. I almost pity that you'll never experience love, or even give it a go. It's beautiful.

level

I've gone past the level of the 'norm'. Psycho-active, wretched and an addict. I feel so alone, in a state of depression, at an all time low. Prescription medication. Routine. Self-mutilation. Sex-taught suicide. Sadism, sodomy and drugs, drugs, drugs. Dancing with the devil.

thunder

It was a dark, intense night, and the weather reflected upon it. The loud cracks and clashes of thunder roared across the vast, broken angry black clouds. The rough sea was plagued with large bolts of bright amplified lightening, striking in-between there and the rocks which lay below the cliff. The small, wooden house which stood but a very few meters from the edge contained a family, of which the romance had fled, love was non-existant and there only was the tense feeling of divorce. A man, growing hairless in age and from stress crashed through the door, leaving it open and got into his car, driving down the narrow pathway. He never returned.

ill

She was trapped in bed, bound by the white silk sheets which encased her tight but even if she wanted to move, she couldn’t. The stench of anti bacterial fluid reeked throughout the ward and the grim dirty white walls were her cell. The sound of the heart monitor kept its smooth, barely audible rhythm. The cancer was slowly eating away her life, but the glimmering daylight of a new day from the high window where the birds sat on the ledge and sang their daily song gave her continuous hope. “Another day”, she smiled. She was just happy to be alive.

writing since 2011 · 6 entries · 5 days shown up

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on this day 15 years ago

Hannah wrote about level
“I've gone past the level of the 'norm'. Psycho-active, wretched and an addict. I feel so alone, in a state of depression, at an all time low. Prescription medication. Routine. Self-mutilation. Sex-t…”

the words Hannah reaches for

whiteheartrhythmwindowsatdrugstrappedbedboundsilksheetsencasedtightstenchantibacterial