I look down and my toes hang into the darkness. How did I get here once more? Where did all that progress go? I was miles away yesterday. I was halfway up the mountain, and almost to civilization. When did I get back to the edge?

I teeter, the rock crumbling from beneath me. Terror grips me but I lean towards the abyss despite reason. It calls me, the deep. The dark. The calm. Why was I running away?

It seems so welcoming.

I know better.

I take three steps back, scraping my heels against jagged stone. Somehow I'm only an inch away from the edge for my effort.

I try again. I try again until my feet bleed from straining against my chains. I try until the sky turns black as the deep below and my blood turns black as the sky above. Until the song from the depths of the darkness fills me with its stillness. Till the stillness pulls me closer to the edge.

I lean towards the abyss despite reason. It calls me, the calm. The dark. The deep. Why was I running away?

I know better.

I do.

Little difference it makes now.

There are some days that I wake and breathe and the ground meets my feet. I can look at a day and smile from the shadows of the morning. There are some days that aren't as hard as I thought they should be. Or could be. Or would be.

Some days that I can't breathe. Can't focus. Can't see through the grey.

Mornings, and afternoons, and nights, when all I can do is think of the next day and how ugly my world will still be, as I stare at the cracks forming under my shaking hands.

There are mornings that are choked with guilt;

Afternoons that are drowned out by tears;

Nights that are mauled by muffled screams.

All I can manage is to wait for the next sunrise ...then sunset, wishing for everything else to disappear.

I watch the light fade.

I watch the world fade.

I watch time and myself fade.

Everything I am: a thread slipping through my fingers.

And I chase the tread and I watch it slip.

Original:

"sometimes it isn’t as hard as I thought it would be

sometimes I can lift my head in the morning

I can breath

I can smile

I can imagine the rest of the day being enjoyable

some afternoons all I want to do is cry

some afternoons all I can do is cry

I can’t breath

I can’t focus

I can see my hands tremble to reveal the internal cracks

some nights my throat is chalky with guilt

some nights I want to scream and kick

I can’t sleep

I can’t dream

I can only think of how bad it’s going to be tomorrow

some days....all I can do is wait till the sunsets

some days...all I want is for everything to disappear

I watch the sky

I watch my word

I forget time

I forget myself

because everything I am hangs on a thread slipping through my fingers

and all I do is spend my time chasing the thread

and watching it slip from my fingers"

Do you know what it feels like to hold a dying person? To feel the warmth of their precious blood run red across your lap? To hear the pain in their labored breath, knowing they will stutter into impending stillness?

Or can you comprehend what it's like when their fingers suddenly sag as they no longer possess the strength to hold your hand? Or that quiet noise they make when the very last shard of air is crushed from their lungs, the one that echoes through my skull like thunder?

No, you don't. How could you?

There is no way to imagine the crippling agony that stalks me by light of sun and moon. The nightmare of an image that clings to me tighter than skin. It pierces my bones, scraping them hollow with its icy fingers. And my flesh decays under its damp touch. And my body shakes from the spreading chill.

Do you know what it feels like to hold a dying person? To feel the warmth of their precious blood run red across your lap? To hear the pain in their labored breath, knowing they will stutter into impending stillness?

My soul festers with wounds that time itself knows no remedy for.My soul festers with wounds that time itself knows no remedy for. You cannot know this pain. But you will.

You may doubt me now and I under why. You might think it can't happen to you, but you cannot be everywhere at once. Someday somewhere I will catch up to those you love and then, only then, will you know my pain.

On that day when you feel their soul wrenched from their body as you stand witness know it was I who cut the thread. It was I who took them from you and you'll only have yourself blame.

You will be powerless in the face of death just as I was.

Know this and know you will be alone.

It sucks being a twin. I mean it’s probably the same for every twin because of the whole ‘you are your own worst critic’ thing. I’m probably just being dramatic, but I always feel like the lesser half. The one who’s not quite as pretty, not quite as perfect. Yet, still I share my face. It’s like being part of this team that I never signed up for, and I am eternally bound to be the lookalike, the fake. The half that just didn’t get that special touch. The unlucky one. I’m always going to be the lesser half of what I could have been. The copy, the second, the twin, but never the original.

What if I don't want to settle down?

What if I don't want to be my parents?

What if I don't want to have those responsibilities?

What if that never changes?

What If I don't want to make it work?

What if I don't want to make a family?

What if I don't want to make it last?

What if I can't stay still that long?

What if I don't want to give things up for him?

What if I don't want to have kids with him?

What if I don't want to make it him and me against the world?

What if I need my freedom?

What if I like keeping my options open?

What if I like my friends?

What if I like my independence?

What if I like changing my mind?

So what if I'm happy now?

What if I like who I am when I'm single better?

What if I like doing it myself better?

What if I can make it alone?

What if I never know?

What if I'm enough for me?

What then?

How am I supposed to tell him?

How can my love somehow not be enough to keep me with him?

How can I love him this much and leave him?

What if settling is settling?

What if it's just not who I am?

I don't think that's who I am.

But what if I'm just making it all up?

What if I'm just scared because we're so right together?

What if we're right together?

The machine blinks at me it's little red light so loud in the dark room. It screams at me, "She called, you fool. She called!" Yet, I watch it blink a minute more and listen as it rings some once more. She wants to speak. I know it's her.

My chest is knotted as I push it down. My lungs feel shallow as I try for air. Maybe she'll be different when I pick up the phone. I want to believe the lie I've been told. She could listen, maybe even understand…

But I sit where I sit and I watch the little red light flick, screaming at me, "Last chance, you fool, you'll lose her. This is it."

The stink of mold and rot seeped between the bowed planks of the floor. The peachy pink wall paper had long lost it's youthful cheer. It pealed away from the walls in curling slivers. What little sun managed to break through the dirty newspaper covered windows did little to temper the shadows that crawled across the creaking floor. Dust hung stagnant in the atmosphere almost thicker than the air itself.

In the corner of the living room a three and a half legged chair balanced precariously against the wall, teetering over a broke floorboard. A silence seeped from the patchy plush carpet, rising to my ears with a deafening hum. I stepped gingerly across the floor cringing at every creak, afraid I'd wake the house from it's sleep. My heart seamed to rattle in my chest, where the fear came from I wasn't sure but it was far from enough to stifle the curiosity that egged me onward.

Up the back stairs that seemed to be held together by denial alone.

Through the dark hall, scattered with shattered window panes.

I didn't know what possessed me so but I needed to know what had happened here, in these halls, in these rooms, behind these doors that clung to their hinges. Where was the little old lady I'd seen long ago? That night when she'd stood like a ghost by the rode, with her silver white hair and silky white robe, was she ever really there? Would I ever really know?

As I crept through the house, where no one should wander, I looked for my answers but kept my voice low. As alone as I seemed, it didn't feel so. The house, it held something, I felt it. But what? We may never quite know.

We were born into your world, but you will die in ours. We never chose how the world would be dropped heavy on our backs but we will change it. Whether warped or mended we will change it, in that you have no say. The moment you gave us life you started relinquishing your power. You fight so desperately to sink your claws in, to cling to your authority but it slips from you. The world stops rolling for no one. You should have known. Willingly or otherwise, You will give us everything. And we will take over.