stop letting me write things jfc

Colors. Oh, God, it's so beautiful. I don't want to go outside. I don't. Not unless I can step back outside those doors into that place that I dream about every night. That my addled mind sees every time I close my eyes.

They told me this was dangerous. I shouldn't be thinking this way. They might find me again. Maybe I want them to. I'm sick of the grey, sick of the dull cold lifelessness. I felt like I was dying from the inside, a mundane rot from my core. Fuck that.

They're pounding at my door again. I'll hide, make them think I snuck off to a rave for another hit of fevered emotions from the partygoers. Go there and look for me, you idiots. It's been a month. I'm not coming back. Get over it.

Why couldn't they see what opportunities they'd been blessed with? Why couldn't they embrace that mad, sick rush the opening of the floodgates of their minds had given them? I don't know why I left. Every day that passes I keep trying to find the right cocktail that will send me back. I have access to their magics, but only chemical potions of my own making can truly put my mind back.

More cracks spread across my mien's skin as I slip that cute little stamp on my tongue. Don't know what that means. Don't care. Maybe something's trying to break out from under this limited form and truly set me free. It takes hold of my head and I feel my body slip away. God, so close. So close. Blistering madness, loss of self and endless depths of bliss and emotions rippling like incessant drips into a pond. I close my eyes and beautiful landscapes raise themselves against my eyelids. There it is. There it is. I need more.

Barely feel the rest slip down my throat. It hits like a hammer in my skull, and for an instant, a fleeting instant, I remember everything. A lash to my back. Staring up in fear and begging for my life before I'm gagged and bound. Pain. Everything is dizzying, horrible pain. Beautiful, glittering eyes watch me, a fly with one wing, as it gleefully tears the other one away. It laughs as I squirm and cry and vomit and beg. I know why I left. I know now and yet still my heart, leaking down my spine, feels longing with its last, desperate beats, blood spurting hopelessly through withered veins.

/They finally decided to break down his door.  They found him there, alright. Emaciated and twitching on the floor, breathing shallow and drooling rivulets onto the floor. It was clear what had happened. He was what we call The Sick./