Letters to Myself 8

June 7, 2011
By , miami, FL
Stream of Conciousness

Feeling alone. Feeling like cutting. Feeling like giving up.




Feeling like going to sleep. Feeling like jumping from somewhere really high. Feeling like walking in storm.




Don’t know what I'm feeling. Feeling everything. Feeling nothing. Which one? Most likely the first. I want to cry. I want to be invisible. I want to be seen. I want to be heard. I want to disappear. I want to fade away into black, or into light. Heart pulling in different directions. Chest aching. Faith shaking. Faith in myself. Or was it ever there?

Who am I? My addiction. My pain. My scars. My pale skin. My face. My hair. Nothing else. Or everything else.




Angry at the world. Angry at myself. Just for life. For today. For everyday. For nothing. For everything. Can’t decide. Can’t survive. Will survive. Too bad.

I feel like screaming. I feel like dreaming. That I'm not there. Or actually here. Because I don’t know where I am. Where am I? Inside myself. Trapped. In another place. A bad place. But what is bad? Sad? There’s nothing wrong with being sad. But feels like everything is. Everything is wrong. Everything is gone. But I know that it’s here. That’s the part that sucks. That’s the part that hurts. That’s the part that scares me.

Forget me. Remember me. Think of me. Hate me. Every part of me. Every hideous cell of my worthless body. Or love everything about me. Or just love everything about me. Or just me.

Scarred skin. Dirty skin. Worthless skin. Worthless. Nothing. Burdened skin. Burdened mind. Burdened heart. Burdened life. Can’t decide. Nothing’s right.

Cannot dream. Cannot scream. Alone. A droning cry in the woods. A call. Of sorrow? Of pain. Of emptiness. An empty voice.

My everything.





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