Okay, before we get into the stories, please do not report. These are stories I wrote myself when I needed an outlet. Please don't read any further if you're triggered easily and if you get squeamish. You have been warned, from here out it's on you if you didn't listen.
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All I do is dream to escape reality. Music is my only way out, the only way to ease the pain, to stop the ever flowing ache. There is an ever growing want, no, need to become one with the music and forget the regret and pain. It's hard to overcome the want and need for pain and ever slow death.
The slowing melody, it rocks me to ease. though the speeding harmony catches my pace, teaching me to move and breathe. I try to release the pain, to release the want to feel the cold fingers of Death against my throat. I have learned to live with the constant feeling of the cold wind that belongs with death. To suffer the pain of the cruel words that emit in a toxic sludge from mans mouth.
I hear people saying hurtful and mean things. I know the pain of moving on with life. I don't know how to go on and keep my head up in life. My demons seem musical, they seem to move with a pattern that is disturbingly soothing.
YOU ARE READING
My Demons are Alive, I am Not
RandomTHIS IS A COPY OF MY STORY "MY DEMONS KNOW HOW TO SWIM" I LOST THE PASSWORD AND EMAIL FOR MY OLD ACCOUNT! THIS IS MY WORD I AM NOT PLAGIARIZING! *****TRIGGER WARNING**** PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU CAN NOT HANDLE SELF HARM STORIES AND SUCH WORK
