CRUX

Scream and fight.

There's an interference in my thought process,and I'm off to that place again,it's hard not to be when you're stuck in a room you can't get out of.

Where ventilation is restricted to an extent and there are no sharp objects to relieve you of your frustration.

I reach out to grab around,to feel around the lumpy bed,the side drawers,under the pillows,and at finding nothing,I sigh.

They really seem to enjoy pissing me off,it's like all the words I say to the psychologist goes right out of her ears,why else would she instruct them to take away my only source of joy.

"Imbeciles".I upturn the tray of food left on a small chair close by,annoyed that they were wise enough to bring plastic cutleries this time.

What am I,a kid?

Yet,I smirk.

They forgot the ceramic plate,I guess plastics of those were hard to come by.

A shattered shard takes a nose dive into my skin,I dig a lazy path down to the edge of my wrists,just where my palm starts,I erase the thought of severing off my fingers.

That would be too painful,to hide.

The metallic stench of blood glides down my hands in a perfect line and smears the clean floors,it gets me thinking,just maybe a little bit of painting was in order.

That might prove more difficult to hide.

But I could try that on my excuse of a diary.

The outline of a certain figure immediately fills my mind,it seems so reachable I could touch him,but It'd be even realer when I draw him.

It isn't like I was going against the rules,they did say I should express my emotions more.

So in a way,breaking the plate,scarring my hands,and painting on my book was all part of the plan,I haven't broken any rules.

But I plan to later on,because whatever was in that injection made me calm enough to sleep.

And without it,I would be a crack pot full of unreleased tension.

I need to be free from all these thoughts.

But according to the doctor,I had to give myself time to heal.

If only time was in my favour.

I'm 29,with a sentence hanging over my head--metaphorically and a few criminal records stamped to my name.

On top of all that I'm in an asylum.

Damn I am a wreck.

Once a beautiful wreck,with a promising future and a wedding planned.

Now I'm---wait,yeah that's right.

I had a wedding planned in Singapore,

Why because,if you haven't already guessed,

Tyler was American Asian and his father was from the country.

Wait what?

You didn't think we'd fall in love,have kids and all that jazz,then you must be pretty out of it,even I expected we'd kiss from the moment I met him.

And we did.

Only a few weeks after I was released.

Yeah the court found me guilty of some of the more trivial crimes,but a guardian angel,sent from above,came that very day and cleared everything up.

I was a little shocked myself.

The girl was all tears and confessions,taking the blame for something I didn't even remember her doing.

I think she was framed or paid or something of the likes.

I can hardly tell these days.

The only thing I can tell you right now is after years of finally finding the love I thought I deserved,

My luck ran out on me,again.

And I got into some really deep shit.

Let's just say I and Tyler went back to being single after a year of being married.

I should also tell you that Lydia got out of jail as well,through Tyler's help.

She had been on financial support from us after her release.

But I guess she's not that important.

Yet somehow,she is.

A/N--I have no words.