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Jan 2014
the wolves howling at my door are baying for my blood and i cannot drive them away. screams pierce the morning air like shrieking bullet aimed for me, my eyes grow tired from lack of sleep and my stomach churns from the mere thought of last night's meal slowly digesting into more fat for people to **** and poke at. 6 cups of coffee later and i am no less awake nor any happier, my mother is in the kitchen making soup for work tomorrow and my brother still sleeps, lucky as he is, not to be plagued with nightmares that scream at him to wake up. Sitting downstairs in my pyjamas on the computer talking to people who can at least make me smile for a brief few seconds. Daring to draw in my notebook pictures of monsters that lurk under beds and between my sheets, whispering the same things that my mirror hisses at me when i look too far into the flaws lurking there. I look out the glass door in my living room and see a shadowed beast snarling at me from the patio, baring its teeth in anticipation for when it can finally draw blood, crush bones, and swallow my pale flesh, rendering me lifeless and stained with a darkness that has left marks on every indent on my skin. I bare my teeth back trying to scare the monster away, but she and i are one and she sees through my facade, knowing i am not as brave as i pretend. The sound of my dog barking draws me out of my haze and i bury my face into his golden fur, hoping that his sunlight coat will be enough to chase away whatever has nestled itself into my veins and capillaries. We stay like that for a few minutes, with silent tears warm on my cheeks, until i compose myself, finish off my coffee, and return to gazing at this screen where i type my confession.
I can still hear the wolves.
Georgia Marginson-Swart
Written by
Georgia Marginson-Swart  22/F/London
(22/F/London)   
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