The Crazies.

Bridie stayed over last night, it was nice, we watched strange shit on tv and chatted about life. She's a good pal to me, which makes me happy.

But anyway. This is the story of my friday night/saturday morning...

Strewn accross the floor, pens and paper lie by my knees as I press my back to my new blue wall. I rock in the corner, I am not sure why I feel this sick, but not in my stomach, in my mind. I think to myself what it could be, chewing away at my mentality this evening. I fix myself a glass of water and return to my dark carpet.

I miss her, but it's not that, I am blaming myself again, for things I don't really understand i've done. I just feel alone tonight. Cracks whistle throughout the glass as I squeeze the thin frame in my fingers until it pops and smashes around my ankles.

I walk to the bathroom, fistful of glass safely trapped in my fingers, I curl up naked in the long white bowl, turn on the hot tap and watch the blood run off my hands and damaged limbs, into the water. I have done something stupid again. Just this one night, in this bath, as my cat watches from her pedestal opposite me. I needed her to make me feel normal but it wasn't possible due to circumstance, and that is fair.

No one is sane, so why are you looking at me like that?