Look at my eyeliner, one wing still there from the night previous. The clothes I wear are the first clothes I grabbed from the pile on the floor yesterday. I'm really, really, very good at forgetting to take my medicine.

My only friend, a 11.2 lb. Mutt is more than happy to snuggle with me through the days, sleeping in is now my medicine. "You do it to yourself." they say. Not today, please, not today.

Another job that "didn't work out". Whatever, as long as I don't have to leave, outside is so ******* loud. I swear I tried, and I worked so hard, I always do. Still, I'll stumble through time, not unlike everyone else, the crowds of people all unknowingly living on a shelf. The judgments pass on, as does the ticking, and it all comes back around next time with even more kicking. "YOU DO IT TO YOURSELF!"

At night is when the real fun begins, I get to cry, and hug myself, and say its going to be better. One more day. That's it. I'll give it one more day. As for the night, well the mysteries know no bounds, the crickets shall chirp me on as the stars part the clouds. I can finally scream and curse the world silently. Maybe night will come quick, like a thief or death... Ah, wish-filled thinking, I really should take my medicine.

Don't think I'm not hopeful; on the contrary I feel as if I am quite hope-filled, even extremely optimistic. Not today though, today I take the only medicine I can, and crave; sleep. One day at a time, that hope of dying young haunts me. Still I imagine a world with my very own family and a home. Realistic Hallucinations if you would ask someone well studied in the field of psychotherapy; I've got to find that medication.

My pain digs in, begging me to play, not today, please, I beg not today. My blankets are warm, my eyes don't wish to open, my bestfriend is yawning softly, as he scoots closer to me. Maybe I'll fall into a wonderful hope filled slumber, the dreams aren't worse than the living.

Might as well, I doubt if I will ever take that ******* medicine.