Half of me is sick of this. I want to shrug off this suffocating mood and march back into the sunlight.
The other half? The other half wants to rip me into dripping shreds, to smear my blood on the walls and let it pool on the bathroom floor. I want to shatter my bones, grind them to dust, toss them from the window, and laugh when the wind throws them back in my eyes.
I want to beat myself senseless against you--send us both to hell. But you don't believe in that, so I'll meet you in oblivion.