16:18:54

Dear you,

I've tried so hard for so long to make my words sound pretty;
so hard to spew them onto the page in a cathartic release that's also unimaginably elegant.

But I can't.

It's Nov 15th, I haven't written since July,
I haven't taken a breath since June,
And I haven't cried since May.

My words don't come together like they used to. My therapist says I just need to get my feelings out and that 'It doesn't matter if it's pretty'. He says that I'm running out of air, that I need to breathe.

I'm scared to breathe in
The smog that is the world rushing in to fill my lungs
I don't think I'm ready, I don't think I'll ever be

I've been meaning to ask my therapist if it's common to day dream out getting in a car accident and being hospitalized, purely because I want to be in a place where it's okay to do nothing for a while, a place where my only job is to 'get well soon'.

Sometimes I wish I was crazy enough to crash on purpose
But I'm not
I'm not crazy enough to do just about anything.

I can't even scream because it means hearing my own voice
Can you imagine how infuriating that would be?

I'm so scared of death
So scared of entropy

The thing that people don't understand about entropy is:

It's not coming, it's already here