emily holt

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Whirling Thoughts

Waking up in the middle of the night,
Still hearing the screams from your dreams echoing in your mind.

Your heart is beating faster than you thought possible,
the sound of your rugged breath distracts you for the shortest second.
It's in that pause that you notice the darkness and the stillness of the night,
the intense loneliness of the dark.
Reaching your hand to your face, your fingers trace the tracks of the rivers that find themselves snaking down your cheeks.
Your breathing turns to sobs as your arms move to hug yourself, rocking back and forth, back and forth.


Close your eyes,
open them sobbing in shock as you feel the memory of death that hides behind your eyelids.


There's nowhere to hide.
The darkness looms outside of this bed, but it isn't as intense as the terror inside your head.


I wish this wasn't my every night.
I wish that I could tell you that having a fear more intense than of dying wasn't the relationship I had with my own mind. I wish I could tell you that.


There's a small sense of peace that comes with realising you're no longer afraid of dying. The fear of losing someone else is enough to make you want to blend in with the shadows.

The blissful thought of never again having to think for even a split second what someone else may be thinking.
The blissful idea that for the rest of eternity, I wouldn't have to face this never ending battle with myself ever again.
The blissful concept of just not existing.

"The world has so much to give you" I'm told.
It may have some to give. But there is a distinct difference between much and some.

I don't have this strength. My strength lies in my arms, not my mind.

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