descriptions | schizophrenia

i watched in horror as you paced the frigid room over my non-apparent sickness. some nights, i’d scream at the moon until it listened, but my words were not enough. i let a sigh escape from my lungs. it was more than a breath. it was the tendrils escaping my soul. a gasp to end all sounds. it showed the war and suffering of the human disease. the taste of nicotine is condensed, but fluent in the air. i hate it deeply, but the layers of temptation thicken with every falling ash and every fluttering surge of blood. the train tracks are calling and i can already hear the whistle’s blow. i was scared. the thought of perfection dreadfully haunted me. i was not living, but just barely surviving. my soul had rusted to a maroon-colored wisp like the frame of an old mountain bike, on the verge of turning to dust if a mere finger had touched its chain. all i wanted to do was free my mind of whatever had attacked it when i was so young. it's kids like us that are rejected from the world, rejected from our homes. black sheep. we are the empty cracks in the sidewalk that people never dare to get close to, in fear of breaking their mother’s back. when I was little, i saw the bad guys give the brave heroes miasma, but what if the dangerous chemical was inside my mind, all along? i just wanna be a superhero. i asked myself what happened to the alice’s rabbit hole. my self answered, fire. like a wildfire. it stole away my other self like a grave robber. that’s when i knew that the monster was the one who started this. we are elevators that have been permanently shut down in a building as rotten as an apple core. we are dangerous. i don’t wanna be invisible anymore; i’m in the midst of turning into a ghost. i have to deal with these vexations daily. i am continually struggling to keep together branches that demand to grow down different paths, yet i am not a tree. i sit alone, talking to myself. this isn’t yourself. and trying to calm the voices in my head. i don’t know if this is the end. they tear down my wall, allowing what little sanity i had left to skip town before my mental apocalypse. we are the stars that can't be drawn into constellations for our celestial thoughts are too plentiful. we are books filled with rips and tears with slitting spines and fallen pages. we are the cheap lights that've burnt out too soon. we are disappointments. we are the smashed in windows, boarded up with decaying wood and rusted nails. i unlocked the door and slowly crept out like the moon after an elongated ellipse. dear moon, i’m sorry for yelling at you some nights, i know you just didn’t want to be invisible anymore. i looked in the mirror, to see nothing but the monster, standing right in front of me. i allow my eyelashes to gently collide with my skin, diminishing the faces of the monster, because god knows it had more than one. if i close my eyes tight enough, it can’t see me.