Sick, sick, sick forty-eight

There is a sad, tenebrific sickness pushing through my body.

I feel as if I am in a movie. I’m not myself. I’m watching the great production. How could I explain it…

The premise of the movie revolves around the final days before a young girl’s sudden disappearance within 50 days. Everyone around her is clueless, unsuspecting of her ever-growing cheerless eyes. Even she is naive to the inevitable. The world continues to spin in such a way that her mere existence is over-looked and taken for granted.

I don’t want to disappear in any way shape or form.

God- I feel so fucking weird. I swear, I don’t even recognize myself right now. I am a different person.

As I was driving home, this pang of melancholy pushed right through the center of my chest. I felt so incredibly sad. I’m thinking that I’m going to hop on some suicide chatline and work it out. Although, those lines rarely bring me comfort as the operators on the other side (usually) show no true understanding.

Even the weather seems odd to me. I just feel that everything is wrong.

The clocks are ticking, I’m staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes are sunken in, my face is a different color. My insides are twisting and cracking. They want me. Micah is here now, teeth splayed wide. I feel that I am unable to move. My limbs are weighed down, like lead. I keep hearing high notes and cracking. Help me, my hands look so different to me.

I want to crawl and creep beneath my sheets, get lost within the wrinkles, and hug my knees.

How entirely nonsensical this may seem. Oh, I need help.


3 thoughts on “Sick, sick, sick forty-eight

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