I wrote this while intoxicated and it’s gonna be apart of the book I’m working on. Yeah the book is in progress. It’s just gonna take a long time

Writing

I’m stuck in this mind set that I’m alone in everything, I feel like I’m just grabbing people’s ankles and shackling them when I talk about alone I feel. As I attempt to talk, I see the demons appear, silhouettes disguised from plain sight. They dance while holding thick rusted shackles. They dance around your ankles, you can’t feel that weight being applied but I see it. The smile that leaves your face when I respond to the simple question: “are you okay?” ,

All you needed to hear was a sound “No”, but I was tired of lying so I decided to be honest, I chose to tell someone, anyone that I wasn’t ok. I thought it was going to be ok, I thought this wasn’t going to ruin anything. I took a sharp inhale, closed my eyes for a moment, I curved my mouth and said: “No, I’m not okay. Every day I feel like there is nothing inside of me. It’s like I’ve fallen in love with my own demise and all I can do is keep falling. I feel like a joyless book where all the pages end with me jumping onto a of spikes. I don’t think I ever recovered from the loss of my mother. How can I go on with life? How can I accomplish anything if I can barely bring myself to get out of bed most days and face the world? I used to feel like I was in love with something, with someone. Those just became distractions upon distractions as I attempted to forget about the things that bounced back and forth in my cranium.”

As I finished talking, there was no longer any happiness in your face, there was no tentative glance in your eyes. The demons had already shackled you and began pulling you down before I even got the chance to say I’m sorry for bringing you down. I am sorry, cause even I don’t want to hear myself cry through these words. Every word Feels like an annoyance to me. Just another sadly written self loathing letter to myself. Every time I speak I feel like I steal the light out of you, that light was all I wanted. Not for myself but to share to bask in your light. Whenever I speak I just waste it. Then you become as empty as men

The thing is, I’ve always had a hard time talking about love. Telling someone how much j wanted love. Simply because all of my chances with love. Make me feel like an undeserving child who has been spoiled with too many things he hasn’t earned.

I’m terrified because it feels too good, how can I know this pleasure when all of the joy I get it just gets snatched away from me?

There will be times where I just feel this immense light beaming down on me, it feels as warm and embracing as my mothers arms. After a while this horrific feeling crawls up my spine and I feel like the happiness is just a facade.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore

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