Grip

Here it comes. The tight grip on my chest. I can't breathe. Everything is hollow. I am scared. So scared. I feel as though I will die but I don't even know why. There is no logic to this madness. I pull at my hair and I look around frantically. Looking for a retreat or some comfort...but there is none. It feels as though someone is stepping on my chest and that they are enjoying every cracking sound of my ribs. Sadistic. I am the sick one because there is nobody there. It is all in my mind and when I am running around screaming in my apartment, I don't recognize any of this. Nothing makes sense in my head, I am drowning. There is no helping hand so I have to learn to swim.

Hollow

All those faces with their hollow stares. They have no business being there. They are no better than you or me but that is something that they simply don't see. I wish I could fly away from this place, release myself of these abrasive chains. This little hope that I clinge to is battered and bruised. Everytime I want to see you, help you, be you, all I feel is used. I am not myself and I can never be because these people are fake and bitter. They will swallow me whole, I have no defense. How do I stop caring about all of this? I don't want to hear it anymore, I drown it out. Drowning you won't kill you will it? Your noise follows me in my dreams and in my meditations. I am finished with you.