Sadie Suicide

A spider works countless hours.
Only to have someone carelessly walk through and destroy her fragile work.
yet.
She starts all over again.
anew.
Undaunted.
It seems that I am , in fact, that insignificant spider.
However.
I weave my web in the most peculiar places;
Near lots of careless travelers.
And no one's there to help me rebuild.
And I may never learn to take up somewhere else. for my own good even.

In the blue-green of the earliest of morning hours, she sits silently on the edge of her bed. Staring at nothing. Which is all that is left. After everything shes done for everyone in her life, here is what shes left with. A bare floor and stark walls.

She trips down the hallway to the bathroom where she vomits up the remnants of the self respect she had left.

The air coming from outside is thick. Too thick. Like the world is trying to suffocate her for trying to be a good person. Trying to kick her down and knock the wind out of her. Where does it go? This is one of those days when she just cant breathe. No matter how hard she tries. Her lungs wont expand under the immense weight of her heart. Why its so heavy; your guess is as good as any at this point.

The fog wanes and reveals the same city that she loathes every morning. Grey, cold, conforming. If she could jump, she would. But the window is too small and it would only bring her closer to the death that waits below in the street. So shell keep this last bit of sanity. For a while anyway.

Crawling back to a bed thats becoming too hot for her clammy skin, she vows to never again care about anything; no -- anyone; that refuses to give something back. Lying only to herself; dreaming no more; she drifts in and out of her constant, self- induced coma.

and again

Awake...

I hope they didn't leave any metal inside of me. But I'm almost sure theres shrapnel in my head somewhere. But where are the needles? I can still feel them. Well, where they were. But there aren't any marks. Lying on this ironically polished metal table, my pale naked skin looks a sickening green. I must still be tied down. I cant feel myself anymore; I only pretend that I do so as not to go completely into shock. But maybe I'm already there. Whispers. Someone can surely see me. Exposed as I am now. But who? Do they know? Have I told them things I shouldn't have? Probably. I always do when I wind up here. I cant remember much after the explosion. Or was that the force from my stressed heart finally dying from exhaustion that I heard? No, its faint, but I can hear it. I cant believe its even lasted this long, to tell you the truth. Its been almost a year now since the onset of my pain. Never once subsiding. But Ive made them worse over time. On purpose, of course. Always looking for another fix. Stealing, killing, and lying to get it. I have to get off this table. The cravings have returned. The throbbing is creeping its way back in again. Whoever tried last to fix me obviously didn't succeed. Maybe thats my fault though. But surely everyone knows that by now. I have to have said something revealing to these people. They'll look where they shouldn't and then they'll know. Ill deny it. But they'll all still know. You can see it in my eyes. They way they dilate at the mere mention. Falling to the sterile ground, the smell of industrial strength disinfectant makes me sick. Or is that a symptom? Ive been through withdraws before, but never anything like this. How long have I been here, against my will?

Gathering whats left of my strength, I bear down on the sharpened edge of this cold platform. Too cold. Even where my body has lain. The edge of the table begins to cut my hands as I draw myself to standing. Finally, some warmth. Unsteadily, I stand confounded by the only color in the room. Familiar though it is, I cant seem to place it. Footsteps. Laughter. They're coming. I have to get out. This pain in my chest burns intensively and yet I long to make it burn even more so. Ive stumbled to the door, and clutching my chest with a bloody hand, I reach and turn the knob with the other. Silently, but everything resounds in my head now. Now that I need it. Now that its been how long? Never maybe? I should be fine now though, shouldn't I?

I fall into the blinding sun. The light searing my porcelain flesh. My eyes cant adjust. They've never let me out this far before. My frail body leans forward in a dry heave. The stimulus is too much for my weary body to bear. I purge myself of nothing, for thats all Ive left to give, and continue on. To somewhere. To find you. To get back that high. The one we shared together. But I havent a clue where theyve taken me. Or how I got here, much less how to find you. Will it always seem this hopeless? Every time I wake up? Or maybe I just woke wake up next time. If I find you, Im sure Ill tell you what they already know. You knew first though. We both did. And then Ill O.D. in your arms. Because who knows when Ill be back for more? Its a long journey. But I have to find you first. And I know it wont completely kill me. It never does. I always seem to wake up there, on that table. You'll find me through the door thats ominously smeared red. Naked. Feeling the weight from the metal left inside of me. Somewhere. I'm sure its there. I probably put it there. I guess I like the pain. I stab at it with needles. But they leave no marks. How do I keep ending up in this place?

LOVE IS CRACK.

Apparently.