Empty Lines

I wrote this at night, which explains the insanity it's laced with.

 These empty lines scare me. I'm afraid of what I might fill them with, and the terrible things that might spill out. But what's even scarier is lines that remain empty, blinking at me when I skim past them with searching fingers, or even worse, when the lines disappear as if there was nothing that needed to be written down. But trust me, it needs to be written down. The words like monsters dancing between the threads of your tear stained pillowcase are hunting for a home, and your mind is weak and will shake under each clawed footprint.

 So condemn your monsters to blue inked lines that will contain them without killing them. I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but the lines won't kill them- only keep them from infesting your mind. I"d argue that this technique only works when you're doing well enough to murmur a haunting reassurement of your own well-being. You're too scared to start from scratch, you can't imagine life without your demons- so you let them commit bloody acts behind the margins, let them scream at you while you turn the page, which is nearly as thin as your vanishing hair and the paper thin skin over the veins on your wrists.

 Sometimes though, when the monsters have leaped from the pages and invaded your mind, set up camp along the closing fissure splitting your brain, you can do no more than cry where no one can see you. The demons have control now, and you're being recruited to join them, join them

don't you dare join them 

Set fire to your mind. Let the monsters and your brainwashed perception fall to ashes. Then collect those ashes in a plain, wooden box and put it in your pocket until the day when you can wave it in front of angels and demons alike, tears scratching your cheeks, arms raised to infinity, and demand, "Where is my reward?"

Author's Note

This is highly emotional and not meant to be punctuated correctly.