I write because writing is my only escape. I need that escape, as my mind is submerged in a pool of darkness and I am too tired to swim. By tired, I mean sick. I am sick, broken, numb. I no longer get the taste for love, happiness and sadness. I wake up every morning struggling to get out of bed, I realise my passion is dying, becoming emotionless and hollow. I rise like a zombie in the night. For I am a creature of the bight. The demons that robbed me of my emotions thrive in the dark but not in the daylight where they can be seen. By seen I mean noticed. I float around hoping someone will notice that I need help. But no. I have sunk too far from any ability to speak my mind now. Each day I go deeper and deeper into my unhappy pool of darkness deeper into my mind….deeper into my skin. And just as I think it is getting better like I’m floating to the surface, I dive back in again only this time I go deeper. The blade drowns in my blood as it gushes out and now I’m lost. I’m lost, sick and tired. And I let myself drown.
