A Thought

Thinking is scary. Contemplating is worse. Somedays you ask me what's wrong. "Nothing" I lie, not wanting to tell you the awful truth that I'm Thinking again.

He plagues me these days. In worn down blue jeans and a flannel shirt, he comes to me and whispers sweet hatred in my ears. Adrenaline and sweat and old zombie movies. I called them cheesy, he called them classic.

And now when SHE comes into my room, tells me that I'm failing and that I will never recover I believe her. Because I am still haunted when I shouldn't be, because I am not good or pure enough to deserve you, because I have yet to succeed. And it is now when Thinking becomes deadly; one lethal thought turned to action could provide the 'fin' of me.

You want to save me, have always wanted to save me. The only thing you can't save me from is the most dangerous of all: my own mind.