Oпять не спала всю нoчь.
Сидела и думала o тoм чтo мoглo бы прoизoйти, если мне не рассказал бы друг oбo всем.
Вoт сижу как дура, вспoминаю все чтo былo, и как все бoжественнo начиналoсь. 
Смoтрю на все фoтoграфии кoтoрые все еще весят в кoнтакте, читаю старые переписки, и рука не пoднемаеться удалить к черту.

I feel my head rolling to side, involuntarily.
However the melancholy is too good.
My senses are too warped up. And the fog rolls over.

Starting to see things that truly aren't there,
they all seem to be distorted and blurry
the substances acquire new fragrances, all fresh and unique to my nose.

My pulse is pounding right up to my skull, and I seem to scream out unclear things.
I’m thrown into a chill sweat, and everything is too sticky.

Unexpectedly the sound submerged deep inside, reaches my ears like bell ring.
My tongue has become dry making the air around, taste like smoke and blood.

Oh god, I’m stuck, locked inside myself.
Every move I make is a warning.
Threatening to prove, that I ate today.

Restless and lethargic, the sickness is plashed wave over wave.
I’ve reached upon my weary, eroded shore,
walking towards what I call a dark path.

Девочка, слушай, зачем тебе эти фокусы?
Ты ведь давно уверена, что не выгорит.
Может быть, стоит последним ночным автобусом,
а не скандалить, пока он тебя не выгонит?
Не дожидаться «он все же к весне изменится»,
не искать по карманам пачки и зажигалки?
Ты так уверена — он никуда не денется.
Глупая девочка, глупая…
Очень жалко.

Девочка, знаешь, пора прекращать истерики. «Хватит, продолжишь завтра — сегодня пятница». Ты превратишься к осени в неврастеника.
Или к зиме — здесь, по сути, уже без разницы. Будешь рыдать, обвиняя весь мир в измене,
близких — в предательстве,
мир — в недостатке света.
А все очень просто — когда мы живем не с теми, рано иль поздно разводит пути планета.
В жизни — увы и ах — тормоза отсутствуют,
и до финала не все доберутся в целости...

Он не сможет сказать,
что ничего не чувствует.
Дело даже не в фактах — банально не хватит смелости...


-Анна Кулик

She claims insomnia. What can you claim?
Awake through the night. Crying, to try fall asleep.
Deep purple bruises under her eyes. Red, puffy eyes.
Its so mind churning.
You make claims; She listens, hears your every whisper.
No one cares? She cares.
No one understands? She wont let them.
Why wont she let them for once?
They'll only end up hurting her. They always do.
No surprise if this claim wont be any different.
She hopes she is claiming what is hers.

A call. It started out with a call. «hey, you coming to college? well, we're waiting for you. Later»
That's all it took, and a few questions in truth and dare to make the day memorabe and to re-call all the past we've had.
Oh god, I dont want to fall for him again..
Maybe it's a crush; a crush that appeared because I feel so vulnurable from the previous relationship that hurt like hell.
Oh screw it. I think i started to rely a little too much on fate and coincidence.

She smiles on the surface. She laughs the loudest in a crowd. From the outside you won’t see anything wrong with her. Technically, nothing is. She wishes she could explain, but it isn’t that easy. She’d explain it to you but apparently she doesn’t even know how to begin. She tries to enjoy life. Find that shining ray in every situation. She tries to tell herself that it’s just a phase and that come a new day it’ll all change and she’d sincerely be happy. She tells that to herself every night before closing her eyes. She wakes up, and for just a second everything feels so right. Feels like the puzzle’s complete, everything’s in place. But then she crashes back to reality and it hits her so hard that she uses all her strength not to fall, not to crawl right back into bed and sleep through another day. Yea, course it’ll be easier that way. To hide from every single problem. Just run away from the tiniest difficulty. But how is this life then?
She can be sitting in class. A regular day, nothing out of the normal. Nothing to tick her off and get her into that depressed mood she’s usually in. Well yes, in class. She’d be laughing at all the lame cracked jokes. In simple words, not giving a second thought, or considering the fact that once she gets back home and crawls into bed, she’ll be once again dead. Eaten up from the inside, by all the fucked up insecurities. Then all of a sudden she’ll zone off into space and stare somewhere far away. Yeah to many she’d look like a person who’s had a tiring day and just wants to go to bed. But to be honest? It’s never been that simple no matter how much she wished it was. The truth would be much more painful and just too complex to let anyone ever know. What really goes on you may wonder… well when her mind isn’t busy thinking about anything, anything at all. She gets the images. The images of things that happened back then. It’s like a painful stab, holding a strong grip over her. It’s an involuntary action. It’s like the picture is pushed right through her. It hurts so damn bad. But wait, that isn’t so bad. Really it isn’t. The worst part is that there’s no one who sees through her. No one. She doesn’t blame them though. She’s guessing that in years she’s just gotten so good at it, at hiding it all so well. That al they see is despair for no reason. And let it stay that way. I pray that they never find out the truth.
Do you know how hard it is to walk around with a secret so deep, so dirty that once it’s out it’ll make everyone look at you differently? Well she does. And up to this day this secret, is buried deep, deep inside.
She tried to draw, write, create, she thought that she is happy when she is kept mingling with something. But no, she mistakes happiness for a temporary pain relief. She probably made a mistake of confusing the two feelings because she was used to relieving pain in other ways.
The hatred towards herself increases everyday. It seems that she is being punished for ever being born. Every person she feels safe with is taken away. POOF and that person is gone, either voluntarily, either by means of silly fate. Maybe she deserves it. Maybe she is that bad of a person. Maybe it’s time to finally listen into the words that were in the air for quite a while.
Let it end. Please let it end. She can’t handle the façade of fires anymore.
One day, she was in one of her moods, she broke down. She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore she was so unstable mentally, to the level of extremes. She curled on the floor, and that’s when it rushed in again, the heat, the anger inside. She knew exactly what she’ll be doing. She’s felt this before and she’s done what comes after it. Her wrists started burning, reminding how easy it was to do the last time. It all happened so fast. Her head was filled with so many options, but she chose the easy way out. She got up, walked to the bathroom and locked the door, took out an orange make up bag, from the bathroom cupboard. Slowly she opened the zipper, and picked pills. She wanted this time to be different. She wanted to be certain that she couldn’t be saved. A few seconds of confusion were like hours of torture. But eventually she made up her mind. She knew she’s ready. She just wanted the pain to go away. She persuaded herself that it will be easier this way. That it’ll make her forget everything that mattered and what didn’t…
What next? The alarm clock rings, she wakes up. Puts the mask back on, made of smiles and giggles.
And sighs at that fact that it’s the 3rd night in a row, she sees the same dream.