I feel stuck. Stuck in the choking, hands bound, laying on the floor crying, hearing nothing but your own heartbeat kind of way. I can’t handle this time of the year. The time of the dark, speechless mornings. The quiet hallways. Pale faces with lifeless eyes and blue lips stare at me. Draining me. Emptying me. That’s when my demons come out. Screaming, threatening, running towards me.
I’m stuck in a city where non-rainy days are days worth celebrating. I’m stuck in this route, and to where? Where could everything possible lead when you can’t see what’s right in front of you.
In the darkest of hours I let myself bleed, careful not to do it anywhere else but on paper. Ink and tubes of colors are my escape now. For hours I lose myself in them and not having the will to find my way back.
“Soon, it will all be over”, I tell myself. “Soon, it will all be over. Make something out of it.”
Little Pocket Journal 