boulderbuzz

Rachel keeps getting more worried about the smoking, the drinking, and I'm sure we are on the brink of the "has our relationship just become physical?" fight. I'm tired of walls, of fear, and constant compromise. The suburban formaldehyde seeps into my veins, giving me a gnawing head rush. A head rush of incessant noise that grows with each scathing eye, each sarcastic remark, every browbeat, every suggestion -- I know she is right, but I've never had high value of life, especially mine.

Hours tear at my sanity like the ripping of band-aids. Every aspect you thought was healing finds the scabs picked -- the evidence runs red and stains -- leaving us to stare, wordless at the creeping demons. My character is debasing. My will for self-improvement, direction, and general happiness subside.

I only want freedom. My own life.