ArchieTheFel
Born to ":3", forced to "Hi, welcome to the store"
It's a weight, dragging; pulling me down into an abyss. I can't breathe. It's all in my head, though. My days are on repeat. I get up, clock in, work, clock out, take my long walk home, occasionally stop at the store for some food, and head home to take care of my pets. It's not a bad routine, but I almost wish I could lock myself away in my office and just wither away.
Today, my brain is rotted. It stinks up the air around me, and makes me afraid to approach people. I'm afraid they'll smell it. But no one really cares, anyhow. Everyone smells.
I go to the store on my way home. I haven't eaten breakfast and I'm hungry, but I'm also starving for pain. I've been clean for so long, it feels so shameful to think about sharp objects on my skin. Without realizing, I stray away from the sewing and craft aisles for once, ignoring the urge to purchase an X-Acto knife. Instead, I resolve to eat my feelings today. I can't touch my flesh, but I can certainly hurt my insides.
I finish my shopping and walk home, staring at the pavement as I stroll slower than usual. I don't have the strength to speed home like I usually do. I can hear the cars pass, and watch them speed by me in the corner of my right eye. There's not many of them, considering it's a small neighborhood, but there's enough to make me walk closer to the middle of the road. I fantasize deeply, and think about how I might paint the road.
The sherbet would burst into bright colors all over the hard ground, the doughnuts beside them with their raspberry filling and shiny white icing. Then the small lemon pie would leave streaks of yellow custard all over, and even the microwave meals I purchased would be scattered like glitter and sprinkles. And there would be red. So much red. And I would be free.
No cars come to paint the road today, however. I make it to my house, still breathing, and still drowning.
Today, my brain is rotted. It stinks up the air around me, and makes me afraid to approach people. I'm afraid they'll smell it. But no one really cares, anyhow. Everyone smells.
I go to the store on my way home. I haven't eaten breakfast and I'm hungry, but I'm also starving for pain. I've been clean for so long, it feels so shameful to think about sharp objects on my skin. Without realizing, I stray away from the sewing and craft aisles for once, ignoring the urge to purchase an X-Acto knife. Instead, I resolve to eat my feelings today. I can't touch my flesh, but I can certainly hurt my insides.
I finish my shopping and walk home, staring at the pavement as I stroll slower than usual. I don't have the strength to speed home like I usually do. I can hear the cars pass, and watch them speed by me in the corner of my right eye. There's not many of them, considering it's a small neighborhood, but there's enough to make me walk closer to the middle of the road. I fantasize deeply, and think about how I might paint the road.
The sherbet would burst into bright colors all over the hard ground, the doughnuts beside them with their raspberry filling and shiny white icing. Then the small lemon pie would leave streaks of yellow custard all over, and even the microwave meals I purchased would be scattered like glitter and sprinkles. And there would be red. So much red. And I would be free.
No cars come to paint the road today, however. I make it to my house, still breathing, and still drowning.
