Obituary

Twisting, crawling, craving, a bug under my skin creeps into my brain and assimilates into my being telling me things, not in words, but rather urges, feelings, thoughts, visions… of a better world. A world of great happiness that can only be achieved though means of death. I’ve forgotten why, I’ve forgotten her name, the blood on my wrists, the feeling of feeling anything. Anything but hatred, anger, distaste. But that is something I must hold with me as to not project onto others, but just as a cog rusts, and as a dog ceases to run, the soul should tarnish just the same. Losing grip, losing vision, losing will, memories just the same, I can’t stop the sand falling through my fingers, as it should, I have lived past my date far too long. I’m so so sorry it was a stupid idea to think I could eat at the same table with those above me. It’s the kind of tired that sleep won’t fix, sleeping through the day, skipping a week of school, pushing today off for tomorrow. Futile, no amount of mental health days could mend my state of being. ITS NOT GETTING BETTER, what’s the point… of getting over an episode if another one follows it in a weeks time? It’s the privilege of the healthy to not understand a word I’ve said, and for that is the reason I could never tell you about my bug, the screams, the blood, the shaking. I’ve been too tired to look her in the eye but exhaustion does not void the thoughts in my head, and so I sit still, rock like, angry at the world around me. There was only one person who ever truly got it, whom I understood too late, sorry juju I have to go see her.

-Love, David

26/3/2010-5/10/26