Sent: 1/26/2004 9:21 PM
As I shivered home from work today, in freezing temperatures, the cold enveloped my lungs, skidded through my veins, dried and cracked my bones in decay. I feel lifeless. I feel alone. I am sad. Persons pass me and smile, and I find myself almost annoyed that they cannot recognize my despair, that they have the audacity to look upon my frailty with kindness. Perhaps my face shows health, a rosy frosty glow; alas my spirit is sullen and black, dark and blue. My eyes gaze heavenward towards the starless sky. My world is colorless. My skies an everlasting gray. Nothing's changed. I had hope that it would. But everything's the same. Icicle tears.
My spark, my hope for a burning flame, is frozen. No flicker beneath ice waves. My wick is wet, laced in snow. I feel that I have been waiting forever for something to show, yet inspiration seems to have evaporated in the winter winds. And as my great emptiness feeds nothing, nothing starves my light. Fog flurries blind my sight. Lost on a black and white canvas plain of Mars, there is no one but me who can hear my grieving screams over these scars that seem to say that I am to blame for everything. That this is my fault. My life is all my fault.
I am cloaked in open sores of my own disgust of myself and my life. I would bleed, but the chill has congealed, leaving me in blood red spider webs in which I am caught. It seems surely soon I will be eaten, if not first by the world, then by myself who seems cannot be fought.
Help!
Save me.
Save me.
Oh please save me.
