Sometimes at Night

It sounds strange but the Russian roulette of  my emotions for you get the better of me. It’s funny that I need physical sensation to remember the act of dying. I sit trying to put it into words but there are none really. None that matter at least. The cold metal barrel and the soft beckoning taste of gunpowder always astound me. It isn’t like anything I have felt before. It is good to remember how to feel at least. It’s like trying to catch a dream.

I know I can do it even if this doesn’t make much sense. I remember what it was like but I there is a block there when I get to how it is supposed to feel. The familiar ache is gone but it has left something infinitely more horrible behind. Everything is so much quieter now so much more peaceful which makes it all the more devastating. I would do anything to get me back. Anything to break this silence.

 

How do you say to people that something is wrong… no I mean really really wrong like horribly deadly carving yourself up into little itty bitty pieces wrong?

And here for those of you who like them are nifty pictures.

61011 61019 61851 62210 62212 62221 62271 62309 62372 62377 62434 62564 62663 63636 64063 64858 65472 Capture (1) Suicide zombie-apacolypse-is-upon-us

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About Killingdanse

I am the girl that was pretty but too smart. I am the girl that you sat and discussed horror movies, sci-fi novels, and molecular genetics with but were scared of because sometimes you saw the darkness peak out from inside me.
This entry was posted in Art, Quiet Insanity, sex and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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