I feel ill, which I know i am but i don’t like to think of it. Yet here i am. It is midnight. i am sad. I am thinking of ways to become un-sad. As usual there is no straightforward solution. There is no A+B=C it is just mess and more mess and more mess and implosion before explosion and heartbreak and shatters and magnetics pulling all the pieces back into their places before the curtain goes back up. I don’t know what begins this but i certainly know what fucking ends it. Have you had enough yet darling? every day that same fucking phrase in and out of my head. have you had enough? I’m tougher than you think but more fragile than i know. I don’t think I’ve had enough but maybe the cracks are starting to show. I don’t know where the end is, just that it is coming. I can feel it coming. It is coming. I can feel the rumbles of the darkness pulling closer. i know it wants me. As usual I am more trophy than person. Are you ready to die darling? Not quite but who’s to say. It is all i dream of and yet I run from it everyday. I think things would be better if i were dead but somehow not better than if i stayed? I don’t think I’m making sense anymore.
Riley Ferguson is a 19 year old living in isolated northern Ontario. She’s mostly nocturnal and doesn’t make sense around 99% of the time.