This is How I Write

Once in a while I allow myself to get lost in an imagination that sometimes meets reality. I KNOW it's a bit dramatic, but that is how I write =)

My heart is a delicate flower petal in the hands of a curious child, a descending bubble in a field of dead grass, a helpless spider web in the path of an approaching tornado. It won't take much to damage any further what's left of this tired, unsteady, fragile heart. It hurts. It's painful; I can feel the intense, torturous throbbing that builds up and causes the sensation of tears budding in my eyes.

Echoes of hidden sobs are enveloped in a bubble trapped in my lungs, about to burst out through the vocals. Saliva accumulates around my lips as if I were a dog smelling a juicy slice of raw meat. Yet these moist lips are not the result of an appetite---I couldn't bear to eat right now. It is when the detained sobs finally escape, exploding from my chest, that the liquid drips from my mouth and eyes, all over my pillow. I don't care that my face is stuffed into a soggy pillow covered with smears of black and beige make-up on the white fabric, nor when I realize how pathetic I look curled in a ball while feet spasm uncontrollably like someone with a nervous twitch.

I begin to feel the rippled edges of a sharp knife slowly leaching into my barely beating heart. Yet no red liquid has escaped from my chest, telling me there is no knife. How do I experience this invisible, dreadful pain that reality tells me is not happening? I do feel it when I think about it. The emotional and mental pain is so great that there is no other way to experience this suffering. There is no other variation of tears or crying, no other way of cringing into a ball to contain the pain. The only way to experience this great of a supposed non-physical pain is to actually begin to feel it physically, within the most vital organ of the body. This is the only explanation comparable to the ache I am experiencing. I love someone that doesn't seem to love me back.

And it is quite possible that it is because I am too spineless to tell someone how much I care. It is excruciating not being able to tell a soul in the world; utterly unbearable. I haven't been the same for a few months now. I know people can tell the difference. I'm not the same cheerful, happy, warm Holly. I feel like a blue eyed zombie. I have the soul of an old, bitter, cranky widow. All I want to do is sleep. I avoid my schoolwork, and am so behind it is almost useless to try and catch up.

My eyes haven't been the same, either. They are a clogged bathtub of running water about to reach its capacity. Any heavy object that enters the flooded tub will cause the water to gush over the edge and spill over. That heavy object is quickly approaching and I don't know that I can bear it when it happens. Sometimes I think I am better. But the thought of consciously believing I am better causes me to slip back into thinking about it.

I'm not a romantic, but shit these are real feelings that I never thought I would feel. This feeling of complete vulnerability isn't worth it, even though my heart tells me it is. It's the same heart that endures all this pain... now what in the hell is that supposed to mean?

I need to snap out of it.