a book about me & my emotions

Neo-Expressionism

I always wondered, that, if that thing with my dad NEVER happened, would things be different? It's something that I'll never know. There was something great inside of me. An omnipotent and omniscient beast that emanated from the depths of Tartarus, consisting of sadness and a lasting rage that pushed through my veins as fast as my boiling, crimson red blood. I swear it felt so good when I lashed out. When I threw things and smashed through objects and let it flow through me. When I hurt other people with my words. But it always felt bad, too. There was always another side. The sensible side of myself always felt horrible after I lashed out on things and other undeserving civilians and people close to me. Since the sensible side of my conscious failed to match my rage created by fucked up events and a naturally fucked up brain, the sadness did. It eventually overcame it when I hit so many jagged parts in my short life. 

Death. I always wanted to taste it. It lingered above my head for years and I almost touched it a few times. My fingertips gracing the garment of the beautiful Lady Death, a cold chill being sent through my vulnerable spine as I stood in its presence, only to be grasped by the strong, steady hands of fear and curiosity, that always kept me from death. 

This book is fucking depressing. But, I have to express myself some way. I guess the "good" parts will come later. (I feel quite alright now, because of M. Love you.)

I remember laying on that mattress that had no bed under it, upstairs. I think I had finally gotten tired of the bullying at a mostly white school, and I decided that it'd be better if I just.. went. You know? It was late at night, I remember. I remember laying down gracefully on the bed and closing my eyes. This is it. I sucked up the last bit of air in my lungs and clenched my imperfect teeth, and held it there. There was nothing but darkness. My short fingernails, destroyed by anxiety, dug into the fluffy mattress underneath me and I squeezed as hard as I could as I struggled. I was scratching endlessly at the sheets with the tips of my phalanges at the same time the darkness began to dissipate. A bright light shined in the middle of the scene. It's kind of funny to me now. Isn't that how God created the universe? It was nothing but darkness until the light came. Funny how what I thought was the end started with light. I don't know what that light was, but it felt so peaceful. It felt like I was getting closer and closer to it, and the brightness was hurting my eyes. But I just couldn't. My lungs felt like they exploded as I breathed out, wheezing and letting spit fly and splatter on the cold floor at the end of my twin-sized mattress. 

Life it is.