The Lonely

The torturing hour has become torturous as I lie in bed with my thoughts. There was a time where this time three years ago, there would be something looped around my neck or blood trickling down a canvas of brown. I can't anymore, yet the thoughts straddle me, tempting me with its rotting sent and captivating soulless eyes. I was once soulless like it and now that I've dipped into the River Styx, I can feel hee discouraging me with every bad thought. Yet she knows that the weeks waning into months are slowly driving me insane and that all I can see are my old friends. I take inventory of the blades every night so I know where to run when my soul sleeps in and the urges take over and drag me by my puppet strings back into the abyss.