Opened Mind

I'm laughing and crying and dying a little bit more every day. Raw screams are slowly shredding my throat to bits as my laughter chokes me, chokes me. I'm appalled and afraid and I'd like to ask for a refund, okay? This game... I don't want to play anymore. My fists are banging on the doors without me realizing it, without me realizing it, until the black paint is suddenly covered in red and I'm terrified. I'm terrified.

My knees are buckling like crack-snapping branches under the weight of too much ice [in wintry death]. The red is splashed across the summer-blue of my shirt. It looks ugly, it looks like dying day. The sky's burning, the sky's burning. It makes me panic, I'm trying to rub it back to happy, I'm trying to get happy back.

I'm out of energy and give up, curl up, hoping it's over soon. It'll be over soon. I close my eyes and rock myself a little bit, whispering that I'm safe and I'm at home and I'm okay. My shaking figure is trembling like a leaf fluttering just before it falls off; uncontrollably. Uncontrollably. It's so pretty, the red and orange and yellow hues of autumn, I think.

Somebody's shaking me, hard. Somebody's yelling, yelling, at me to wake up, to snap out of it, it's okay, it's okay. I'm crying and my summer-blue shirt isn't burning anymore and the black doors are gone and I forget where the red went. Where did it go? I'm weaker than a bug, I collapse into still-strange arms and warmth and hope and tell myself that it was only another night. Just again.