Insecurities.

What I wouldn’t give to have it all taken away.

Just for one moment. To not feel that dark void, nothingness weighing so heavy. To look myself in the mirror and not see the sad, pathetic pools of darkness staring back at me. To be able to live, carelessly, without that black raven sitting in the back of my head. The constant picking, making my head ache. To not feel like the monsters gleefully stomp down the sparks of hope, coloring my entire world a gloomy shade of grey. Constant picking. Words that cut through self without mercy.

Slash. Slash. Slash.

Leaving my soul tattered and bleeding. Making everything hurt. Making it feel like this is the only alternative for me. My fate. To always lead a washed out life, marred by myself. To exist, without living.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

The raven, unnecessarily reminding me, telling me that I mustn’t forget that this is how it’s meant to be. That I’m supposed to feel this weak. My head is throbbing, an unbearable pressure is hindering me from thinking about anything else.

Don’t worry Raven, I won’t ever forget.

Pools of darkness staring back at me.  Tired. The blank expression of someone who’s lived with this her whole life. Apathy merely a weak facade, a thin wall that holds little strength.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

Tears blur my vision as I break down. Frustration and bitterness runs down my face, leaving streams of cold on my cheeks. Pools of darkness in the mirror. Now with a single, tiny spark of emotion. The face of someone who feels. The sparks, trampled down by the giants, rise and dust themselves off. Making the monsters shrink. I see the hint of a light, giving me hope. Hope for a better self.

Pick. Pick. Pick.

The black bird reminds me of its presence. Letting me know that it will never go away. Oh, how I wish it would go away.

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