*Yawn*

I have come to the conclusion that I'm not very good at this blogging thing...But oh, well.

It is almost 4:30 in the morning and I haven't been able to sleep for about two hours, now. I don't really know what's wrong with me, but I haven't been able to sleep well at all, lately. Last night I had a reason for not sleeping well, but all these other nights...I don't really know.

But the reason I'm writing here right now is because I'm confused as to what I should write about...In my creative writing class, we are creating a literary magazine. I've had many ideas pass through my head as to what to write, but I can't come up with anything. This is weird for me. Usually, I can just write. And I don't have to think.

This is all so absurd. Why can't I just write? Why can't I just sleep? Why do I have to over think things so much?

I need to think of something. The deadline is March 26th...A week from Friday...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something tells me I shouldn't be here anymore...Something tells me that my time is up.

The darkest dark eats me in silence as I just lay there, unwilling to dream. More willing to scream...

Why am I here?

I run through the dark path, the raven's beady eyes following me all the way down, down, down...

I run through the rose bushes, thorns digging into me. Making me bleed, making me cry out for mercy. Making me fall to the cold, unforgiving ground. I look at my hands, the lines carved in there for a lifetime, but sliced open and dyeing my world a coagulated red...

I pick myself up, my wedding dress torn. My make-up running, the raven following me. Why am I running? Where am I going?

I feel like some sort of corpse bride. I feel as though I've crawled out of the ground just in time...but just in time for what?

I'm a mess. Covered in blood, covered in the rips and tears of a dress, covered in my own black tears.

Something kicking inside of me. What is it? My fear. My anxiety. The one thing I'll never be able to escape.

Damn you, foolish nightmare. Damn this all to hell. You want me to believe this is real, you want me to believe I'm heartless, hopeless, weak...

The ground is smoother and cooler against my feet. More even, more waxy. I open my eyes and I'm down in my own kitchen, my own house, my own clothes...

The knife I hold is in my hand, covered in my own blood...My arms and legs look as though I've run through thorns...but what do I know.

I turn around, just in time to see a hooded face lurking outside of my door. So quietly and graciously, the hood floats through the glass of my door and meets me. A hand reaching through my chest, I fall to the ground. I can no longer feel. I am numb...

I open my eyes once again. I'm in my own bed, but somethings not right. Every time I breathe, I smell it...I taste it...

I look down, the wedding dress still torn and bloody. I look in the mirror, and there he is...Staring right back at me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I think this is proof that I should not write this early in the morning. But that's ok. I'll try to see if I can get some sleep...