cursed by imagination, bound by disposition

It’s all changed. Everything. My life is never going to be the same, and there is no going back. May 9th, I dread the day. I’ve fucked up. I’m in too deep, there is no way I can change now. I’m going nowhere, so why do I still care? I just can’t. I’m ruining the people around me. I didn’t just fuck up my life, I fucked up two. I need a new start. I can’t be here anymore, I can’t. I’m in a bad place, I need an escape. What if I run…?

I’m not suicidal, so why am I having these thoughts? All I know is, they need to stop. Now.

The sweet taste of iron, the warm red drops, shiny and metallic. I promised myself I wouldn’t, but I did. I’m stoned, drunk, and it’s 9:30. I think I’m gonna black out. I don’t want to wake up.