The Smell of Insane

The smell of insane haunts me.

Five years ago, my life flipped right way round. I was caught in a pool of insanity, I, a manipulated machine, shut away, all my reasoning’s reduced to fate. I prayed, Dear God, don’t let this sorrow hollow out my insides for I will discombobulate into ashes of shameful remains.  I felt like a puppet, they took my life and learned to control my every action, they regulated how I thought, I had no distractions. How is it that my life is very much my own, but I’m being held back by the reigns attached to my throat? Every day I feel as though the air I breathe in is water and that each breath I take I’m closer to the bottom of the ocean. How do you expect me to live underwater, I try to take gasp of air but something then ties a weight to my ankles and I am not only sitting at the pediment of the Atlantic, I am sitting in the depths of my despair for I have this impending sense of doom that I will never see the sky again. I’m not ready to die yet, I sure am ready for the sand beneath me to disappear so the ground can swallow me whole, once and for all.

The smell of insane surrounds me. It smells like salt water and porcelain ashes in the air.