Title: Requiem of Torment.
Author: Broken Music Box.
Rating: PG 13
Summery: Malik's thoughts one night. PG-13 for suicidal impulses.
A/N: Same as Glow. Not written as Malik. As me. Thought it would fit Malik. Therefore posted it here. Don't like it, have a cookie and go read something else.
Ever felt like the world around you was spinning? Spinning so fast that it feels like you'll fall without something to hold onto? And have you ever so very abruptly realized you have nothing to hold onto? Nothing stopping you from falling.
That feeling frightens me. But it's one I get every so often. And there never is anything to hold onto. I think there was once. I'm not sure. But there must have been something once.
There must have been something once. Something that kept you from just lying down and wanting to die. Something that kept you from simply giving up. Something to keep you alive enough to care.
But now.... Now there is nothing. Nothing from keeping you from slipping into the abyss quietly, just letting go. Reaching for that razor that you've been eyeing for so long now.
Once it gets to the point where you have to stop yourself from picking up the knife you want to slice your wrists with, there's probably no coming back. I wouldn't know. Somehow, I can hold it together well enough to stop myself from killing me. But for how long? I don't know.
I honestly don't know. That's what scares me. So scared I cry sometimes, and then the cycle starts again, with me telling me I'm weak. And worthless. And beneath notice.
But there's always someone who notices. And you have to push them away so they don't guess. They ask if you're alright because they've seen the look of absolute hopelessness in your eyes. Of course, you smile lightly and nod, saying yes, you're fine. Not so.
The more persistent ones 'subtly' keep a little closer to you to observe and watch. They end up always being there, at your elbow, guiding you along after you've freaked out and spat it.
Because that's what you do. You take a comment the wrong way, or you start yelling at someone who's mucking around, and fly off the handle. Before you know it, there are people trying to intervene. You remove yourself to a safe distance so you won't hurt them on a whim, and they accuse you of running. That, obviously, makes all of your intentions of not hurting them go bye-bye.
The people who intervene try and pacify you. You, however, are so far gone along this path of release that doesn't involve something sharp, couldn't give a damn. They do succeed in separating you from the person you're irate at, and you end up spending the next hour yelling obscenities at the person who is trying to help at your elbow, while they sit there. Calmly.
This sends you down a pit of depression like no other. Add this to the cluttered chaos of your mind, and you know what I'm talking about. It hurts. Spiritually. As well as hurting your head. Trust me. I should know.
I'm going to sleep now. Perhaps you should too. I don't know. All I know is that my head hurts, I'm tired and I'm depressed. Hell, I could probably be crazy if you wanted me to be. If I'm not already. Which I am. That's what everyone says, anyway.
I think I will sleep now. Sleep, or sleep? Oblivion, or dream-sleep? Blackness and rest, or a place where you're confronted by the place and the people you want to go back to? You choose. I don't want to. But perhaps you don't want to either.
Oh, look. This is getting to be a song. Or a piece of music. Sleep. But I can't. Sleep. The nightmares will come back. Sleep. I can't. You can't make me. Sleep. You're right, I am tired. Sleep. And weary. Sleep. No, those are the same things. Sleep. You're trying to trick me. Sleep. No, go away. Leave me alone. Sleep. No. Sleep. Huh. Weird piece of music. With words, instead of notes. Peculiar. Have you ever heard music with words? I haven't. But I have. I plays in my head now. It's pretty.
What's that word I heard somewhere? Requiem? That's it. Requiem. Funeral song, elegy, chant, hymn. It fits it perfectly, doesn't it?
A lament of torment.
-fin-
