insomnia kills, so i write

One can put a hand in a burning stove and feel the heat, the fire and its torment. One slits a wrist and feel a passion of a bloody-like flame, of life itself in another dimension, the curdling intensity, the sweet pain and the ever mysterious mind trip that goes along with it. for one looks at the blood gushing through, dripping drop by drop in its own rhythm, an ever exquisite melody that can not be equated to any thing. she feels ever more so alive in this euphoria- her head weightless, her heart heavily pounding, and her mind completely absent. the sole of her soul lost amidst the confusion and pain (who knows what had, and who, inflicted the pain). perhaps life itself has burdened her. no more of these whispers, these constant guessing games and those furtive looks in someone's eyes. her loved ones, her friends and the people she dearly knew, had suddenly become strangers, veiled in obscurity and turned into something so alien, so distant in their own habitat. her room, her only sanctuary has transformed into something so foreign, so utterly distant that it made the whole picture, the mundane world itself simply unlivable. there is nothing left worth living for- everything she has known, loved, and attached to are now gone, pirouetted into the unknown. so here she is in the her bathroom next to the sink, braver, perhaps more confident than she has ever been. here she is, with her eyes comfortably closed, enjoying the moment (she feels really light headed now). for her, the world is so chaotic, so heavy, and so unsatisfying that its better to leave it than to live in it. and slowly, she drifts away. it might have been sleep, it might have been the dizziness or confusion, or perhaps death has simply came to greet her.

IN MEMORY OF CHARY, MY COUSIN, WHO SPENT A MERE NINETEEN YEARS IN THIS WORLD. MAY YOU REST IN PEACE.