Weak and Drunken Hearts

~MuahKissKiss

Choose that is all I do yet what I say is meaningless. They take advantage of me, yell at me, and call me a monster; I'm beginning to believe it is true. It is not my fault, the world made me this way, I wasn't born mad and broken. Still it is always the same, no excuses; justification has never been something they tolerate. They refuse to understand thus they bend the girl who is already broken. Broken, mad, incurable they call me. Of course I realize I am unhinged, but I have a good a motive for being the way I am. They gave me hope and took it away and that is enough to make anyone dangerous. It isn't my fault mommy and daddy packed up and abandoned me, right? Though I say it doesn't hurt and it does not trouble me I still, every now and then, I feel the warm trickle of tears down my face. Though no one comes to save me from the darkness I relentlessly fall into or the chains that rub my wrist raw.

Suddenly I am not there anymore. I am on a path made of gold. I can feel the warmth of it under my feet and the ever present sun beating down on my head. Birds race past me and land on branches or drink nectar from vivid flowers. The smell of summer andpetrichor is thick in the air. I move to touch a small flower by the road and when my fingers come in contact with its stem that is when it happens. Everything starts to die. The flowers wilt and slump over like lifeless shells, the grass clumps together in small brown patches, leaves fall off trees as the branches twist wildly some to the point of breaking off. The birds shed their feathers and skin revealing bone underneath, entwined in some of their rib cages are metallic colored ribbons. As I watch the world around me perish terror begins to set in, I am nostalgic for the once alive forest that now dies before me. I can feel icy rain begin to fall from the sky as the cold sinks into my skin. The once beautiful, now tarnished, road crumbles before me and ends in an abrupt cliff. I lose my footing and fall deep into the unknown darkness below.

I jolt upright but find myself restricted. I can smell the rain outside mixed with hopes of freedom nevertheless I am still in the asylum, still caged. I have been strapped to the bed and my fingers throb, I look down, they are cut and bleeding. Before I was dreaming I must have thrown something and broke some glass, I don't quite like things to remain on tables, but right now the memory escapes me. Why do they lock me up during my darkest hours? They could not understand my longing to be loved if it crawled in one ear and slithered out the other. I am kept here with no sunlight yet they fail to realize that a plant withers with out the sun.