Bullets, Needles, Arrows, and Other Fun Objects,

If It's a Battle You Want, It's a War You'll Get. (:

In the morning, I kiss my reveries goodbye, and open my eyes. The radio is blaring, playing some "easy rock" travesty of a song, and all I want to do is hide under the blankets. After twenty minutes of examining every last plain detail of my ceiling, I decide it's time to get out of bed. Of course it is not because I want to, but simply because I'll miss my bus if I don't. I sit up, expecting the needles to slip their way through my skin. Waiting... waiting... waiting... but no sudden piercing pain. This is odd. I cautiously hang my legs over the ladder of my loft bed. Safe. I let my cold feet touch the equally cold metal rungs. I stand up to help assist myself down the ladder, and that's when it happens. Stab. Bang. Kill, kill, kill. My barefeet meet the uncomfortable texture of my red carpeted bedroom.

Texture is the least of my problems, though. It is what promises to greet me, once such a thing happens, that I am forever anxious about. I'm unsure of any other way to describe the impending occurrence of doom other than to tell you to imagine what it would be like to be a part of a world war. You're right at the most climatic scene, about to meet the rising action. It is where you pass the fine line between your safety, and the enemy's territory. Leaving my bed is leaving my safety. It is where I enter my reality-meets-nightmare's dominion. And like any prepared army, there are soldiers EVERYWHERE, surrounding me. I am in their realm now, and they want to make sure I'm aware of that. They ready their weapons, daring me to move. To try something. To do anything, really. I, however, am in no mood for their games today. I take an anxious glance over my shoulder, back up to the safety of my bed. Do I dare let my country down for my own safety? My "supporters" send me a warning glare. It is clear to me that I am on my own. I take the deepest breath I have ever taken, and lift my right foot. Do I dare it to move?

Dare, I do. I take a step forward. The most crucial step of my life turns out to be my last. My enemies shoot. Their bullets sear deep through my skin. They're inside me now, much like my internal organs used to be.

And everyday, I carry on, as more and more bullets, needles, arrows, and other fun objects continue to turn my insides into their cozy nest. For myself? My contents are forever trapped inside of a blender.

Some of us live with demons, others have skeletons in their closets... and the rest of us? We might just be too lost to know the difference.

- - -

This is what happens on school nights when I can't sleep.
See what I mean about inspiration being nocturnal?
And bonus, I finally got it out.
My current travesty is hidden within the words in the paragraphs above.
Congratulations, you have officially taken one official step closer to beginning to enter my world.
Goodnight, acquaintances.
Although I'm almost certain only one person actually reads this.