It all revolved around this park; a symbol that was daunting and I walked by it everyday.

Sometimes I felt as if this city kept me was keeping me in restraint, as if the history and Victorian buildings were rotting; just as I am out of apathy. And there we laid near the flowerbeds, vines binded askew on the bricks. We laid, entreated the sun to stay a little longer, not to transition through its phases; the golden recalibrating to pink, to purple, to violet - to navy - to blackness: that prevailed and the darkness vexed this park.

The city was cascaded by the abominable stench from the paper mill - the refinery that sent an unsettling feeling in me everytime it surpassed our park, hovering above causing a swarthy looking view.

The graves had been dug up long ago, but we still endured within the evasive, hollowing King Square park. Shadows thickened from the statues that also overlooked the graves; the smog became more condense than the shadows. The smell was merely too much to bare. Pigeons infested the old brick surfaces - with their abrasive squaks stinging our ears. The water fountain casually belted out a tune, Moonlight Sonata, or maybe a piece from Bach; but its tune could only sound eerie, rather than a placid feeling that entered our ears.

So I walked by this park yet again, then reached my... home, down the street. I stepped in, another unsettling feeling kicked in as I strutted through the smog of all the smoke.

There they were, staring off into oblivion, and I joined their sides.

So, I gobbled up another vitamin week after week, day after day and like now; I could feel my insides shattering. Colors began to shift and they became too vibrant for me to keep my eyes open. The walls are rigidity, the patterns on the walls, but I realized these swirls derived from all the chemicals.

I am not wasted right now. I am sober. Or at least it feels like I am. It takes too much just to get this buzz. This is the aftermath of a chemically induced weekend but I am still enduring it now, on a Sunday. Sketchy Sunday.

My eyes are sinking into my head, I feel the serotonin seep away and I wonder if happiness could ever be restored. My skin is a fairly preculiar shade, stranger than my usual paleness. I bite my fingernails out of nervousness. Each deep breath is like a wasp stinging my own organs. Even each word that escapes from my mouth is worth naught. I look in the mirror and a wan, aching girl stares me back - it's as if my insides are not palpable anymore, everyone can now see what I have done inside.

Fuck I'm going to collapse.

Maybe another pill or another line will make me forget.