A Study Of Destruction
Broken mirrors reflect the truth in ways I could never see before. All the cracks, the fractures, meaning beyond sight, broken beyond repair.
She's too far, too far gone.
Sitting in the darkness, it's calming because there are no more thoughts. Anger is almost like a exorcism for the diseased mind - keep in mind, some exorcisms don't work. And sure, for awhile, I will sit there and I will be empty and okay, but little by little, the sadness will drip in through a tiny crack in my heart, slowly filling.
Tainted with panic.
I'll be more confused than ever. Am I happy? Am I said? Am I a murder? Am I just a normal girl?
Whatever my conclusions may be, the mouth stays shut because truthfully, will saying anything make it better? The answer is no.
Nothing seems to have changed, but look closer, what's missing?
The mirror. The mirror is missing.
Restraint. Restraint is gone.
And what happened to her placid expression? Her don't-make-waves attitude? Gone. Gone gone gone, in it's place a little smile and a pulsing ache above her left eyebrow.
It appears I didn't know me as well as I thought I did.
In my mind, I grope around, trying to fine a sliver of light, a sign that there is a doorway leading to a brighter place, hoping for eternity to make it out of the darkness.
One thing: I feel infinite, so to speak. My current self seems infinite. The darkness, infinite. A forever ending nightmare. That guest, the one who says goodbye but doesn't leave until long after saying so.
Oh yes, my story is ending. It's ending forever, it's always ending, so it never ends.
It just keeps going and going.
Infinity is a concept. Is it real? I'd say, math-related, it might as well be since numbers can go on for as long as they'd like.
But really, is anything else infinite?
Oh, are you so sure? How do you know it doesn't end? It's expanding, yes... But that must mean it does have a limit, and it is only stretching those limits. If it goes forever, than why must it keep moving? If it goes forever... To me, it just doesn't make sense. It has to have an end.
Or do we just say it's infinity because we aren't sure yet?
Where in the universe are we? Where? I feel so small.
And to make myself feel like i have some kind of control, i do what I do best: Destroy what I can.
Cut apart pictures of myself. Bite. Scratch. Tear. Cry. Punch. Kick. Run. I have power.
I build it up to knock it all down.
I talk to you so that I can lie to you.
I look at myself in the mirror so I can hurt myself, in the mirror.
I read my books about other worlds because... reality check, I'm putting off life. I'm letting it run away from me.
All I can do is this. Take it a day at a time. They go so slowly, but the weeks race by. I reach out... trying to grasp threads, but it's like holding onto water while jumping on a trampoline.
I now leave you to watch Doctor Who. Another escape, I suppose.
Those of you whom I've never met; Have a good life.
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