Anatheia Nyx

Australia

highschool sucks
literally have more books than i have clothes (692>70 - approximately)
distance education
introvert
big sister to a tiny demon
best friend is my mum and i'm not ashamed of it
little balls of floffs
depressed gay (pansexual)

Message from Writer

please be gentle with my pieces - many of them are rough first drafts, and are still flowering under the rays of my self-fuelled procrastination. i'm currently working on a larger project (read: completely avoiding it like the plague and doing absolutely nothing with it) so many of these pieces might/will be connected to the same world/characters. i also do suffer from depression and anxiety so if i suddenly disappear or put up ten different pieces in the space of 1 hour, please do understand that my brain hates me and wishes to slowly kill me under its administrations. i am still young and figuring out how to write complete sentences so don't kill me if my pieces should see the fiery depths of hell rather than this website. love, antheia.

skin bathed in moonlight

November 27, 2019

FREE WRITING

1
it's the middle of the night, and the only light you can see a streetlamp outside your window which colours you a faint blue. your bedsheets are rumpled where you twisted and turned for hours, your pillows still indented where your heavy head rested. the air is chill to your bare skin, goosebumps littered upon your body as you shiver into the night. you imagine little snowflakes melting across your thighs and onto your bedspread, copycat versions of the tears that drip off your cheeks - drip, drip, drop. they sting, you realize. as you choke on your own misery, your tears soon become liquid acid that leaks from your eyes; burning a trail down a sniffling nose and puffy red cheeks before forming miniature rivers throughout the dry canals of the bedsheets. your hair tickles your neck as you bend over, dry-retching nothingness with muted sobs. that burns too - your throat alight in burning heat, your head and your back molten-hot. your lungs are scream for oxygen, yelling and kicking and screaming as you begin to cough, curled up with your knees touching your forehead as your head tilts back and forth like it's on a ship in a vicious storm. you grip the sheets until your knuckles are white, bunching up the bedspread when your legs stick and try to wrestle it into a position that helps your organ feel like they're in the correct place again (and not all over the same bedspread and sheets). your body seems foreign in the dampened light, as if it's not your own. you touch your skin only to feel nothing but cool flesh. your head too heavy for your neck, your legs seemingly disconnected from the rest of you. i can't breathe, you think as your visions goes a tinted black and you feel like you are drowning without anyone there to save you. there's nothing. nobody.
 
it's the middle of the night, and
                                                                                    you
                                                                                               
                                                                                                 can't
                                                                                                                                               
                                                                                                                breathe.

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