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Literature Text
I think I am going insane.
My legs are folded on the black leather couch and I am running my fingers over the veins in the back of my hand, barely listening to what She has to say. I stare at a patterned rug that dissolves into chaos about the fringes, the neatly-weaved red, yellow, and blue blocks bending and twisting off their threaded stacks. It is ugly. It pisses me off.
She asks me something. I don't know what it is, but I tell Her, "I don't bleed. There is no blood in my veins. I don't bleed at all. Am I human?"
She stares at me. I stare at Her.
"You're not crazy."
And then She is someone else, but I am still right here.
"I think you need to go to the hospital."
I look up at Her, and She is still staring at me with the same green eyes She had before She was this someone else. I stand, because I'm just as crazy as they say I'm not, and I scream at Her. "Why?! Why why why?! None of this is my fault! The antipsychotics don't do shit, the antidepressants worked too well, and your stupid little 'mood stabilizers' only make everything worse! What do you expect from me? You're the ones who're insane!"
"You're not crazy."
But now She is gone and there are insects bursting from every crevice of the walls, from under the chairs and the desk and the God-awful rug and everywhere everywhere everywhere. I scream, twisting and turning, shivering, running running running, and then I fall through the ceiling and everything becomes nothing…
Thursday, Thursday,
Red light, red light
Against a darkening
Thundercloud sky.
Pulsing.
Heartbeat.
Stop, stop.
Go, go.
But we just don't know.
We just don't know.
My wrist is tingling, crawling, like the blood underneath is whispering eerie lullabies to the surface.
It's nothing it's nothing it's nothing.
But it's something.
An ant marches along over my skin, proud and oblivious. I can't breathe. The sky flips onto the ground, the ground to the sky, and I am spinning spinning spinning. I become something so much smaller than myself, shrinking down inside, and I watch the insect's ten-foot antennae twitch back and forth and its head sway side to side as it makes its way across the pink valleys and ridges of my flesh. I am not breathing. My fingernails screech across its path, and I watch it fall away. But it is not gone. It is there and I can still feel it and I scratch and scratch but it won't go away. I begin to bleed, but there is no blood. There are only a thousand more ants springing forth from the wound, crawling all over me, and I am gasping and screaming and falling to the floor, the dirty, soiled floor that is covered with more and more rabid ants. They begin to devour me, gnawing away, and soon they swallow whole what is left of me.
His heart
Does not beat
Anymore.
He aches
Just like you
Evermore.
How does it feel
To watch yourself
Fall
From the outside
In?
I am not alone. There are people, men, surrounding me in tight circle in a dimly-lit chrome chamber. There are smiling Voices and a Voice that makes me smile, but they are so far away. The men's lips are tight and they are watching. They are always watching. The Voices are speaking of me, to me, asking me to awake, but no one is willing to try. I am aching and shivering and hyperventilating, and all they are doing is watching and all They are doing is whispering.
I am asleep; this new reality burns down my throat and suffocates me, because I cannot escape.
I am caving in. My insides are twisting out and my skin and bones are falling away and the Voices are fading and the men are just watching watching watching.
A scream ricochets off the walls. I shudder, then I realize it is my own. But I am watching from above as what is left of my body splits in half and the insects come again, pouring, buzzing, flying, crawling out of me. My scream distorts to a roar and then a cry and then a moan as the insects tear me apart and have their feast.
I watch.
The men observe.
The Voices listen.
No one wills me awake because no one can hear me anymore.
No one wills me awake because I don't exist anymore.
And I think I am going insane.
My legs are folded on the black leather couch and I am running my fingers over the veins in the back of my hand, barely listening to what She has to say. I stare at a patterned rug that dissolves into chaos about the fringes, the neatly-weaved red, yellow, and blue blocks bending and twisting off their threaded stacks. It is ugly. It pisses me off.
She asks me something. I don't know what it is, but I tell Her, "I don't bleed. There is no blood in my veins. I don't bleed at all. Am I human?"
She stares at me. I stare at Her.
"You're not crazy."
And then She is someone else, but I am still right here.
"I think you need to go to the hospital."
I look up at Her, and She is still staring at me with the same green eyes She had before She was this someone else. I stand, because I'm just as crazy as they say I'm not, and I scream at Her. "Why?! Why why why?! None of this is my fault! The antipsychotics don't do shit, the antidepressants worked too well, and your stupid little 'mood stabilizers' only make everything worse! What do you expect from me? You're the ones who're insane!"
"You're not crazy."
But now She is gone and there are insects bursting from every crevice of the walls, from under the chairs and the desk and the God-awful rug and everywhere everywhere everywhere. I scream, twisting and turning, shivering, running running running, and then I fall through the ceiling and everything becomes nothing…
Thursday, Thursday,
Red light, red light
Against a darkening
Thundercloud sky.
Pulsing.
Heartbeat.
Stop, stop.
Go, go.
But we just don't know.
We just don't know.
My wrist is tingling, crawling, like the blood underneath is whispering eerie lullabies to the surface.
It's nothing it's nothing it's nothing.
But it's something.
An ant marches along over my skin, proud and oblivious. I can't breathe. The sky flips onto the ground, the ground to the sky, and I am spinning spinning spinning. I become something so much smaller than myself, shrinking down inside, and I watch the insect's ten-foot antennae twitch back and forth and its head sway side to side as it makes its way across the pink valleys and ridges of my flesh. I am not breathing. My fingernails screech across its path, and I watch it fall away. But it is not gone. It is there and I can still feel it and I scratch and scratch but it won't go away. I begin to bleed, but there is no blood. There are only a thousand more ants springing forth from the wound, crawling all over me, and I am gasping and screaming and falling to the floor, the dirty, soiled floor that is covered with more and more rabid ants. They begin to devour me, gnawing away, and soon they swallow whole what is left of me.
His heart
Does not beat
Anymore.
He aches
Just like you
Evermore.
How does it feel
To watch yourself
Fall
From the outside
In?
I am not alone. There are people, men, surrounding me in tight circle in a dimly-lit chrome chamber. There are smiling Voices and a Voice that makes me smile, but they are so far away. The men's lips are tight and they are watching. They are always watching. The Voices are speaking of me, to me, asking me to awake, but no one is willing to try. I am aching and shivering and hyperventilating, and all they are doing is watching and all They are doing is whispering.
I am asleep; this new reality burns down my throat and suffocates me, because I cannot escape.
I am caving in. My insides are twisting out and my skin and bones are falling away and the Voices are fading and the men are just watching watching watching.
A scream ricochets off the walls. I shudder, then I realize it is my own. But I am watching from above as what is left of my body splits in half and the insects come again, pouring, buzzing, flying, crawling out of me. My scream distorts to a roar and then a cry and then a moan as the insects tear me apart and have their feast.
I watch.
The men observe.
The Voices listen.
No one wills me awake because no one can hear me anymore.
No one wills me awake because I don't exist anymore.
And I think I am going insane.
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a lovely blend of nightmares, reality, and an overactive imagination - because that's the recipe for life, isn't it?
(bet you can't figure out what's what.)
i was highly aware of prepositions while writing this. that's annoying.
(also, lolfictioncatagory.)
(c)
(bet you can't figure out what's what.)
i was highly aware of prepositions while writing this. that's annoying.
(also, lolfictioncatagory.)
(c)
© 2010 - 2024 t-writes-poems
Comments10
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great writing , you really can .
lovely description .
as we are not to be concerned about you ,
i won't , but somewhere in my head , it'll always spook : is The Howling Okay?
still beautiful.
lovely description .
as we are not to be concerned about you ,
i won't , but somewhere in my head , it'll always spook : is The Howling Okay?
still beautiful.