i'm floating. i'm soaring. over beautiful fields and past busy cities. the wind is carrying me to my dreams on the horizon. the world is spinning below me. and it is beautiful. the world, in all it's pollution and corruption, is still beautiful.

and i am beautiful.

in all my scars and flaws and insecurities, i am beautiful.

for these few moments i feel that nothing can bring me down from my sacred height. nothing can sweep in to destroy this utterly perfect feeling.

i am air. i am nothing. i am free.

but there's a horrid beeping..

what.. i don't understand..

i'm jerked back to the cold hostility of my room. my bare, and lonely room. my alarm is screaming in my right ear. i groan and slam my hand on top in a desperate attempt to silence that deafening racket. my arms gain weight. and i cannot move.

i suddenly remember my dream. and that word, dream, haunts me.

it was just a dream.

everything is only ever a dream.

i sigh. the lingering embrace of sleep pulls down my eyelids. but i remind myself that i just have to get dressed. and then i may lie back down. so, i drag myself out of bed and stumble into the bathroom. grab a random pair of jeans from their crumpled position on the floor and a shirt from my drawer. i don't look in the mirror. because i know what will happen when i do.

after i throw on some clothes, i reach for my toothbrush. unfortunately, my reflection draws my gaze. i hate what i see. i loathe what i see. everything about me is so wrong. my eyes are baggy. my skin is clinging to my bones. yet i seem.. overweight. fat. my fingers are short and stubby. my hair is frizzy.

and i am not beautiful.

i am a horrible black spot on the white canvas of humanity. i'm putrid and ugly. i'm.. beyond disgusting. i'm just wrong.

i get so angry. enraged.

my hands begin to shake. my eyes become skittish and nervous. my whole body is in a state of uneasiness.

and i know what i'm going to do.

i run down to the garage. the chill rushes in at me. and i stumble past it. my hands find the fire-truck red toolbox that my step-father keeps his tools in. my fingers pry open the drawers. i know what i'm looking for. i just don't know where it is. screwdrivers.. wrenches.. nails.. hammers.. ah-ha. i found it.

i pull out the yellow handle. my fingertips run over the plastic grip. and the gleaming metal.

freedom in a pocket knife.

my heart races. i need it i need it oh i need it. i run back through the halls. turn off the lights behind me. hurriedly strip and run a hot bath. grab my cd and put it on number five. press repeat. everything is going so fast..

i open the knife with a click. freedom freedom. everything slows down. i turn on my hip. i press the cold, sharp edge against my side. it stings. i can feel it cutting into me. i drag it. i can feel it. i sigh.

it's over. i'm bleeding.

i cry with the music as they sing the song that is in my heart.

talk to me.. tell me i'm just fine.

i get out. everything is slow now. everything seems to be peaceful. i look in the mirror.

and i still hate what i see.