i was only nine when i
fell into the blackness of
my own treacherous mind.

without warning i began a slipslide descent
into the pits of despair - into madness.
i foughtfoughtFOUGHT! to escape;
but the ground was so slippery -
i was so alone - i couldn't get away.

and so the years passed.
i was ten - twelve - fifteen,
and i only fell further (further, further)
unable to find my way out of myself.
(and eventually unable to even care.)

but now, almost eight years later,
i have glimpsed a world beyond my chains,
my self-imposed cage.
and i am slowly clawing my way
out of this hole, this hell.

and it hurts, god it fucking hurts,
and it's hard and when i look down i
want nothing more than to let go,
let myself return to my ugly haven.

but i won't, i WON'T.
because i swear i have a real chance
of getting out right now, of being
happy and alive and different -

and i can almost taste it, and if i
don't make it out now, then i know i'll
never make it out alive.