Spinning mad futile psychoses delusional disorder persecutory follow me follow me follow me
Crucify crucify crucify
The lions are at the gates
The LIONS are at the GATES
Please — please, PANIC
They asked for volunteers and you swore
And here you are exposing the secret belying the deepest chasms of affinity for nothing be nothing be nothing be nothing
Thirty pieces of silver is too much
The LIONS are AT the GATES
They told you it would ****
They told you what it felt like to be dissected on a molecular level — to plummet headlong through a blackhole out from the context of what has been and into the being of all that will ever
And here we are — here I am alone
And the LIONS are AT THE GATES
And we’ve lost another solider to cafeteria food and freshly waxed vinyl flooring and the smell of unscented soap and non-alcoholic hand sanitizers and the taste of Bob Barker toothpaste that fills your mouth as you scrape your maw with ironlike hard plastic bristles and the sound of a door propping open as you shower to make sure you’re not hanging from the curtain and the taste you get on the back of your tongue when you feel the air that is so stale from locked windows and doors it makes you feel nauseous thinking about it and the girl in the corner of the room who colors and you know that she swore too you know that she swore too you know that she swore too because you were there
And I am left
I should have known.
They told me it would **** when they asked for volunteers.
Inspired by a friend
sometimes I wish I could die
just for a day
to see how you would react
I’ve always been consumed with a sadness and heaviness i could never rid myself of
I wrote constantly.
I knew what heartache felt like and yet nothing could have prepared me for this.
I have not yet lost you.
You’re still here, you still love me.
But for how long?
My mind keeps running back to that sadness to that emptiness and i ask, “how much longer do i have?”
I’ve taken up tarot cards, runes and pendulums and i ask them all the time.
I ask them how things are really going.
I ask them if you still love me or if you’re only pretending.
“How much longer do i have?”
I want to be prepared.
I want to know you’re leaving before even you do.
I want to grieve before it happens so it doesn’t **** me.
I feel the anxiety burning in my chest already.
I find myself daydreaming about a future where I’m in a lonely little apartment late at night and I can feel your arms around me. However, when I roll over to face you there’s no one there and I remember that you’re with someone else and you’re happier with her.
I don’t want that to be real.
I don’t want you to leave.
So I try to hope for the best but I want to prepare for the worst.
Please tell me how long I have. Please tell me before it ends.
i might be crazy
******* it, you left a heart at the end of your message and i felt my own lurch in my chest
i don't love you
i won't love you
but just for a second,
one precious, fleeting moment
you flirted with the fragility of my mind by showing me you cared
and, for a moment,
it felt like maybe i could;
maybe i could love you
but i don't
and i won't
My Therapist said that I have abandonment issues,
says that I tend to idolize the people who leave me,
She says that I build shrines for those who leave,
and tombs for those who stay.
— The End —