I want to slice my wrists open until blood is flowing down my arms, changing the grey of my life to red, staining the sheets.

But I don’t because it would cause too many questions.

There must be some kinda way out of here. Out of the grey, dead feeling of my brain. Out of the cold of the unfeeling place.

I exist but I do not live. I am grey.

I hate this life.

I used to be alive.


2 responses to “Grey

  1. Living in purgatory. That is grey.

    I have only started following your posts consistently and will continue to do so. Why? I am not sure. Is it because I can relate? I do hate it when people say such a thing to me but it has some truth to it. Elements of your post strike me hard simply because I may be feeling the same (I say ‘may’ because one can never truly feel the same).

    Take care.


  2. Thanks Nav. I think it’s almost too hard just living among people who do not and cannot understand. It’s so helpful to me to know that there are others like me out it the world and that I’m not alone. Take care

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