Melanchoholic

Icy fingers, closing around your throat, choking, squeezing, threatening to end your existence. Both hot and cold, burning and freezing simultaneously, and the sensation pierces your very soul.

Shattered mirrors, because you’re too ashamed to face your new reality… Too scared to see the shell of your former self staring sadly back at you.

Floor littered with empties, of whiskey, vodka, tequila, and just about anything you could get your hands on just to drown out the voices of your demons as they laugh at you reminding you of the failures you brought upon yourself.

Old stubbed out joints, little crushed pills… Because you’d rather numb yourself with drugs and hide your tears behind your bloodshot eyes.

But when the high fades… When the demons rear their ugly heads and the loud feigned laughter becomes hysterical sobbing… Misery remains your only companion.

And that’s all you are… Miserable… Angry… Betrayed…

A self-pitying victim. Yet you are the terrorist, destroyer of your own happiness, intoxicated by your loneliness.

by @dontcallmeliv

olivia kidula

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