An old fragrance of insanity

It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree.

The wounds remain.

In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue,

and the pain lessens,

but is never gone.

Rose Kennedy

Silent again. I don’t even feel the need to move my lips. My thoughts are a ping pong ball, bouncing all around, from one place to another. I hear the question but I cannot answer. My tongue feels heavy like it’s made of lead.

The thing is… I like staying in the dark. Sometimes, I like this catatonic state. It feels comfortable. I’m not thinking of something specific, yet my mind is overflowing with different thoughts and images. I am so chained inside myself that it gives me little time to pay attention to others. And I enjoy it. I like not caring about them, about what they are saying to me or thinking about me. Somehow, it gives me more time for myself, more time to expand my darkness, to go deeper into my fears and issues, maybe even let the monsters drown me for a little bit.

My soul feels heavy and old. I feel like there’s a ghost city inside myself. All that it’s left are ruins.

Changing states. Sometimes I feel solid, sometimes I feel liquid, sometimes I feel as if I don’t even exist; as if, somehow, I vanished into the thin air.

Darkness… Such a beautiful word.

Silent.

Away from the world outside, present in the world within. So many feelings, such intensity.