Self-Inflicted Mental Breakdown
Thinking in unfinished phrases, committee telling me how to be me. The man who wants me dead is ever-present in the flow of a hectic day and the stream of my thoughts.
One breath, one bad attitude, one thought; an arm’s length away from my death. I know this. Caution is advisable yet somewhat nonexistent.
Withdrawn from society, isolated in the prison of my own consciousness. People talking. Jumbled thoughts. Oblivion behind me closed in fast. Old behaviors secure selfish motives. Am I loved? Am I beautiful? Am I pleasant to those around me? What am I? Who am I? What am I to become? Am I crazy? Sure am. Questions of insanity allowed to flow freely. Where am I in the scheme of things? What am I doing worthwhile? Am I up, am I down? I’m confused.
The trial has begun, the judge has entered. I am guilty. Utterly guilty of slander and emotional sexual abuse and neglect. My past is catching up, better run faster. Push Daniel, push, you’ll make it. The agony of guilt is too much to bear. I will run faster, faster.
Where is the end of this darkness? If I stop running I may find it. Ha! Doubtful. Grasping around helplessly for an answer, for a way. Where’s the path, the Road I must trudge? I long for an embrace, comforting, things of the physical to supply my artificial needs. Contact, where is the contact? Where did my love run off to? Any outside source to fill the void is necessary to my sanity, I feel. The space is vast, oddly shaped, can’t fit my outside influences. It’s dark, someone turned off the light in my world. Someone save me!!!