Journal of a Sinking Mind

##/##/##, 19:47

Pressure building.

Will she crack?

Will she do her time?

Will she learn from lessons past?

Slow death inside; nothing grows there anymore.

The ashes of those embers, twisted in vines of fear; embedded deep.

She cannot break free from the cycle of deceit.

##/##/##, 11:52

If she exists today, no-one told her.

No-one saw her.

##/##/##, 11:22

Oblivion could be nice,

maybe with ice

- no slice.

##/##/##, 13:36

An oppressive fake emptiness fills her mind.

A heavy, cloying question mark hanging over every blank stare.

Dragging her head lower with each blink.

If she could just lie on the floor for a moment and forget…

Forget how to think, exist, be;

float instead in that space before knowledge of self exists;

in that waking-sleeping perfection of oblivion,

achieved only by the mind she lost;

She cannot focus, the mind will not stay present.

It does not want to be where she is.

After testing the water it recoils,

searching for its haven behind the cover of distraction.

Exhaustion lays it bare, flickering back and forth.

She is indecision and confusion melded into one suffocating emotion that

tugs at her consciousness with spasms and jolts.

She drowns in the soup of her mind.

Bogged down in flitting half thoughts that she can’t catch until the last light

flickers and she sits, neck deep in regret,

resigned to carry on existing despite the voice whispering in her ear; telling

her how good it could be to simply disappear.

It feels better to write it, but to share it is the human condition.

The human condition she does not feel worth.

So she holds her silence, waiting for the day that never comes.

Over the years she has grown such a mask that no-one, but no-one, sees

what she is underneath.

She guards that secret so well that she has forgotten herself. She only

knows that they would run if they saw her.

##/##/##, 16:42

If there was a handbook, you could say she followed all of the steps.

But here she is all the same,

crushed under the weight of it.

Incapable of coping with the life she chose (she chose) to replace the life

that broke her.

The life that so many would crave, and still, here she is, crushed under the

weight of it.

Sad for what seems like no reason;

for what seems like the sake of being sad.

That pressure still building,

swelling in her chest now,

it’s bigger than her, it’s bigger than sad.

She can’t contain it;

she can’t let it out;

it never ends.

Layer overlaps layer of twisted mouldering confusion, drenched in the past.

She fights its grip, peels back the multiplying arms that pin her down.

Until, exhaustion.

It’s a fight she cannot win.

Inevitable to sink again.

She cannot float in these muddied waters.

Cliché upon cliché, knocking at her door.

It’s a cycle she cannot break.

It sneaks around her well-crafted routine,

laying waste to everything she has built.

Sadness gives way to nothing.

A hollow husk remains in her place,

no capacity to care.

All she yearns for is peace,

just a little peace inside her head,

however she can get it.

##/##/##, 15:51

She does not want to

persist in a world where her

head treats her like this.

fin