murder and a homicide
I could kill you but I’d still be dying. I’m screaming inside my own head. Screaming and writhing around in a room in my mind. Away from the sunshine and rainbows and smiles. No love can enter here, only anger and pain. The world has brought this into my head and it won’t leave. I cry, I yell and cry and yell and cry and yell and cry but no one can hear me. No one leaves the sunshine to see what’s wrong. No one visits from the dreams to check and see if I’m still alive. So she slams herself against the walls. She hears the thud but the wall stands firm. It doesn’t budge, it doesn’t move. She begins to bruise. She panics. Madness consumes her. Insanity becomes her. She doesn’t want to be her. She wants to be happy, she’ll settle for normal, bet neither happens. She cuts at her skin but she does not bleed. She goes to stab at her heart but the knife disappears before it touches her skin. She shrieks. An ear splitting agonizing, soul touching shriek. If your ears weren’t bleeding you might find it beautiful. I laugh because this is a part of me that won’t die. Sometime her room is small, other times the room takes up the space of other parts of the mind. But she never leaves. She never dies. I could kill you, but I’d still be dying.