The nauseous feeling is back. It's no longer white, but black. My happiness stretched and ripped, revealing the darkness underneath. I can no longer hide under this sheet. A sheet made of false hope.
The kind of false hope you hold onto for months, years, deacdes. You lie to yourself and say it's okay when things are falling to shit right in front of you. I lost it. After everything thats flipped, so did finally the switch.
Flick one domino and surely the others will fall. I hear it again. The subtle ringing that slowly drives insane. Insane... a bold word. What word would you use? After shoving everything down for what feels like centuries. Normal, I assume.
This is the new normal. Everybody slowly going insane and pretending we're fine. Until we go home and take off the mask and cry ourselves to sleep. Do you know how that feels? To weep to sleep?
Everything is no longer gray. But black or white. I've no in-between. Either flying on sunshine, or sinking in despair. No middle-ground.
Everything hurts like hell and lifts me to the sky. What is gray? Whats it like not fully hurt or fully be happy?
I can't tell the difference, sometimes. I get so caught up in pretending to be happy I start to think I am. And that's fucked up. I'm a prisoner to my own mind and my mouth is locked shut.
Sometimes I think the only key is a simple bullet. A shot to the heart, yet the head.
